


Princes Three:  Any Shelter

by Minuial_Nuwing



Series: Princes Three [3]
Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-04
Updated: 2005-11-04
Packaged: 2017-10-09 01:56:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 29,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/81731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minuial_Nuwing/pseuds/Minuial_Nuwing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part Three of the Princes Three arc, which focuses on the evolving relationship between Legolas of Mirkwood and Elladan and Elrohir, the twin sons of Elrond.</p><p>The Princes wander in the wild, and Thranduil visits Imladris.  In the aftermath of battle, Legolas blunders and nearly loses it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Explicit twincest, mentions of violence (not graphic)
> 
> Beta: Allie
> 
> A/N: Italics indicate mindspeak or thoughts, when not used for simple emphasis.
> 
> A/N 2: In its original format, this story was listed as '14 chapters + Interludes,' but the archive would not allow me to post the Interludes without chapter numbers.

_~Grey Mountains 2151 III~_

His far-seeing eyes searching the tumbled rocks frantically, Elrohir sighed with relief when he caught sight of his lover, wandering among the fallen to retrieve spent arrows. Hurrying toward the tattered form, he frowned uneasily at the scene before him.

Legolas stared emotionlessly into the face of a dying human. Planting his foot firmly on the man’s chest, he grabbed the shaft of the arrow that protruded from the swollen belly.

“No, ’Las,” Elrohir said quietly, quickly placing a restraining hand on the prince’s shoulder. “He lives yet.”

Legolas spared only a passing glance for his companion before he drew one knife and slit the brigand’s throat from ear to ear. “He lives no longer,” Legolas announced impassively. “May I retrieve my arrow now, my lord?” Without waiting for an answer, he took a firm grip on the embedded arrow and tugged savagely, freeing the shaft with a sickening pop that sent a spray of blood over both elves. Looking the implement over dully, Legolas raised his eyes to meet Elrohir’s concerned gaze. “It is broken,” he said unsteadily, sinking to his knees. “The tip is gone”

Disregarding the blood-soaked ground, Elrohir kneeled beside Legolas, gathering him in a snug embrace. “It is alright, anor nín,” he murmured softly. “Come, let ‘Dan look you over.”

“I am fine,” Legolas choked out harshly. “But Tiri...”

“Tiri is well,” Elrohir reassured him. “’Dan has stitched and bound his wound. It is naught to worry over.”

“Praise the Valar,“ the prince breathed, burying his face against Elrohir’s neck. “I thought...when I saw the blood, I thought...” Shuddering, he asked hopelessly, “And Berioron?”

Shaking his head, Elrohir tightened his hold. “I am sorry, 'Las,” he said, stroking his lover's bloodied golden braid. “So sorry.”

“It is my fault,” Legolas began tonelessly, his body gone rigid. “It was my idea, this sortie. We should never have come to Ered Mithrin. I should not have turned my back when Tiri fell...”

Elrohir drew a deep breath, and pulled away slightly. Sympathy was not the answer to battle-shock. “Enough, Thranduilion,” he said sternly, causing the prince‘s gaze to meet his in surprise. “Your warriors fought well, and Berioron died doing his duty. Mourn him, aye, but you do his memory no honor by indulging in self-pity.”

With relief, Elrohir saw tears well in the clouded blue-green eyes. “It is not your fault, ‘Las,” he went on more kindly. “This is the price of battle.” Rising to his feet, Elrohir extended a hand. “Come on,” he said firmly. “We need help piling the ruffians to burn. And your captain needs you.”

  


***************

  


“He will be fine,” Elladan said reassuringly. “The gash was not deep, but a scalp wound bleeds freely.”

“Bleeds freely?” Legolas retorted ruefully. “There was so much blood I feared him near beheaded.”

“Only be-braided,” Tiriadon chuckled, rising to his elbows on the blankets. “Your peredhel lopped one off in his hurry to clean the wound.”

“I did,” Elladan retorted without rancor. “I could not stitch your scalp closed, captain, without easing the weight.”

_Does he know of Berioron, ‘Dan?_

_He does._

“You are not to blame, my lord,” Tiriadon said quietly, as if aware of the silent exchange. “There is no profit in chastising yourself. Berioron fought honorably, and died quickly. A warrior’s death, as he would have chosen. He will not be forgotten.”

“He died defending _me_,” Legolas said with a sobbing sigh, finally giving in to his tears as he sat down beside his friend.

“And _me_,” Tiriadon added earnestly, his pale face tear-streaked, yet calm. “Just as you or I would have died defending him. Let it go, Legolas. Let _him_ go in peace.”

“Stay here with Tiri, ‘Las,” Elladan broke in gently, bending to squeeze the prince’s shoulder. “I will see to the cairn.”

“Thank you,” Legolas said gratefully. “It is more than I could bear just now, el nín.”

Elrohir stuck his head into the healing tent, his cheerful smile easing the somber mood that had fallen over the three elves. “The scouts have found a spring just up the trail that they think could be secured for bathing,” he said, smiling at the hopeful expression that spread across his twin’s face. “I am going to take a look." His grin broadening, he shook his head at Elladan. "Water creature.”

  


******************

  


“Wait until you see it, ‘Las," Elrohir said, as they headed up the rock-strewn path. “It is as though the Valar themselves designed this place just for bathing. Flowing water, and unapproachable from the back rise. Safe as the pools in the valley, as long as the trail is guarded.”

“I would be glad to see _any_ water just now, rohir nín,” Legolas retorted with a grimace, looking down at his blood-drenched clothing. “I shall have to soak my leggings off, I fear. They are plastered to my skin.”

“Aye, it will take a good soaking or we will part with skin as well as leather,” Elladan agreed, tugging experimentally at one leg. “And I fear that tunic is beyond redemption, ‘Las. Best burn it when...”

“Would you look at that?” Legolas broke in, his voice tinged with amazement.

Elladan stood frozen, as though beholding the shores of Valinor.

A wide, thin sheet of water poured briskly over a high ledge of rock, spreading smoothly into an ankle-deep pool before spilling again to form a fast-flowing yet shallow stream that meandered off among the trees and boulders.

Legolas drew a deep breath as he hurried toward the falling water, his exhaustion and sorrow soothed by the gentle din of the falls, and the familiar fragrance of evergreens. “Come on, ‘Dan...’Roh,” he urged, ripping off his tunic and kicking off his boots before stepping into the shallow basin.

Elladan eased off his soiled upper garments, pulling the matted fabrics gingerly over his unbound hair. Toeing off his boots at the edge of the lower pool, he was stopped by a light touch on his bare arm. Turning in surprise, he faced one of the elder Mirkwood warriors who was returning from the upper pool. Three more of the Mirkwood contingent stood a short distance away, obviously waiting for their comrade.

“Your pardon,” the elf said quietly. “Might I have a word?”

“Of course,” Elladan answered immediately, fearing an unknown injury had surfaced. “Are you harmed?”

“Nay, I am unscathed. I wanted only to say that we are the last. All are finished bathing save the captain, and we will carry water to him from the stream.” Looking intently at Elladan, he smiled slightly. “We are the last,” he repeated, “and I will see that the path is well-guarded while you bathe. None shall disturb you.”

The corners of Elladan’s mouth curled upward as he realized exactly what the other was offering. “Thank you, my friend,” he replied. “It is most appreciated.”

“Any shelter, eh?” the elder warrior chuckled as he turned down the trail. “Any shelter is precious out here. Take your time, my lord.”

  


*****************

  


Legolas sighed in appreciation as he waded into the nearly waist deep upper pool. “It is beautiful, is it not?” he asked, and his companions could only nod in agreement.

A thin band of trees grew lushly at the edge of the soft grasses surrounding the pool, shading the clear, bubbling water from the worst of the sun, and providing a welcome sense of privacy. The back wall of the spring rose sharply, a lichen-covered cliff that plunged steeply beyond sight on the other side. The muted gurgling of water entering the pool could just be heard over the splash of the falls into the lower basin.

Joining Legolas in the water, the twins stood quietly for a long moment as the gently swirling water carried away the last traces of blood from their leggings. Elrohir flexed his legs cautiously, relieved to find that the leather was once again moving over his skin freely. “I believe I am unstuck,” he said gratefully.

“Aye, the soaking has done it,” Legolas agreed, sinking to his chin in the pleasantly cool water. “I may not have to live in these things for all eternity, after all.” Standing, he reached to loose his leggings, only to have his movement stayed by a touch from behind.

“Let me help you with that, anor nín,” Elrohir offered silkily, moving closer to wrap his arms around his lover's waist. “Let us take care of you, hmm?”

“Do not tempt me so,” Legolas protested, gripping Elrohir’s wrists, even as he leaned back into the embrace. It had been far too long. Nearly six moons had passed since the raiders set out from Mirkwood. Early spring had turned to summer with little chance for more than fleeting kisses and frantic couplings just beyond the fire’s glow. “It would not be wise, I fear, ’Roh,” he sighed. “The others must bathe as well. We are likely to find ourselves with company at any moment.”

“There will be no interruption, ‘Las,” Elladan said smugly, a smirking grin on his face. “We are the last, and the path is well watched.”

One golden eyebrow arched questioningly, “’Dan? _Surely _you did not...”

“I did nothing except express our deepest gratitude,” Elladan replied, chuckling as he stepped closer to nuzzle his lover’s neck. “It would seem that we have the blessing of Mirkwood’s troops.”

“Indeed?” Legolas rasped hoarsely, tipping his head back against Elrohir’s shoulder. “Then why are we still dressed?”

  


*~*~*~*~*

  


Berioron - protector

anor nín - my sun  
el nín - my star  
rohir nín - my knight

  



	2. Chapter 2

“Well?” Legolas demanded, his eyes twinkling. “Why are we still dressed?”

Elladan chuckled against his lover’s neck, nipping the pale skin gently before pulling away with a grin. “Impatient, are we anor nín?” he teased. “What has happened to that much vaunted wood-elf restraint?”

“Indeed,” Elrohir purred, trailing his fingers fleetingly across Legolas’ stomach before hooking his thumbs under sodden black leather to tug at the prince's loosened leggings. “Anticipation sweetens everything, does it not, ‘Dan?”

“But I think you quite sweet enough, 'Roh,” Legolas retorted, pressing back mercilessly into Elrohir’s groin, a smile of pure triumph spreading across his face as an involuntary moan escaped the elf-knight.

Wrapping Elladan in an insistent embrace, Legolas pulled him close, wedging his own body firmly between the two strong forms. “And my well known restraint, el nín,” he breathed, nibbling sharply at his lover‘s lower lip, “was spent several moons ago.”

Elrohir dipped his head to lick wetly at Legolas’ ear, his teeth worrying the sensitive edge. His eyes fluttering, the prince relinquished his hold on Elladan’s lip to turn his head encouragingly.

Elladan gently extricated himself from the snug embrace and began tugging in earnest at Legolas' leggings, submerging himself completely to work the clinging leather free. Resurfacing with a victorious grin, he stripped off his own garment before moving toward his brother purposefully.

Elrohir sensed the movement behind and leaned comfortably against his twin’s chest, shuddering as nimble fingers made quick work of his leggings, reaching inside to stroke his hardening shaft firmly.

_Take them off, tôren. I would see you._

With a final nip at one flushed ear, the elf-knight released Legolas and wriggled out of the offending leggings, which Elladan took immediately. One ebony eyebrow arched in question, Elrohir watched curiously as his brother tossed the dripping garments over a low-hanging branch, then hauled himself from the water to rummage in the pack that held their clean clothing.

Legolas stared avidly, a fiery ache lodging in his groin. Muscles flexed fluidly under pale skin as Elladan raised himself from the pool, the streaming length of his ebony hair clinging to his back, the ends dancing tauntingly at the swell of his buttocks. Groaning in frustration, the prince leaned back against Elrohir, watching in disbelief as Elladan stretched languidly, turning as if to flaunt every part of his body before slithering back into the water.

“You are cruel, el nín,” Legolas growled, reaching for Elladan, only to find himself held firmly against Elrohir’s hard chest, a tantalizing tongue moving over his ear once more.

Elladan successfully evaded the questing hands, a smug grin on his face as he opened the tin he had carried into the pool, dipping his fingers into the honey-thick oil soap before setting it carefully at the spring’s edge.

Rubbing his hands together, Elladan began to smooth the fragrant mixture across Legolas' chest, pausing to toy with both golden nipple rings before sliding his slippery hands under and over the prince's arms, then down his violently twitching stomach.

As the kneading hands reached his groin, Legolas drew a shaky breath, exhaling it in a hissing moan as his shaft was grasped in a slick, soapy hand. “’Dan...” he began warningly, his hoarse protest ending in a muffled shout as another hand moved to rub his sac gently.

“Aye, ’Las?” Elladan retorted teasingly, scooping up more soap before his slippery fingers plunged underwater, scooting enticingly over the prince’s bottom, then moving down the trembling legs.

Elladan rose from the water, then stood silent a moment, his midnight dark gaze fixed on Legolas’ face. Catching his lover's chin in one hand, Elladan claimed Legolas' mouth in a lingering kiss, his tongue making seductive promises as it thrust repeatedly into the inviting warmth. “Turn around,” he whispered, stepping back slightly, his hands already urging his lover to move.

Aroused as he was, Legolas still found himself rather annoyed by the seemingly preemptory command. Lifting one golden eyebrow, he resisted the gentle pressure on his shoulders. “Turn around?” he asked fretfully. “Just like that? Turn around?”

Grinning broadly at the chagrin on his lover’s face, Elladan dropped a light kiss on the tip of his nose. “Aye, turn around,” he chuckled. “I need to wash your back, anor nín, and your hair. What else?”

Legolas flushed softly, casting a dark look at Elladan, but did as requested, the turn bringing him face to face with Elrohir. Shaking his head ruefully at the grin that twitched on the elf-knight’s lips, Legolas had to smile, also. “You are both hopeless,” he sighed, raising a hand to push back a strand of raven dark hair. “Hopeless, and dirty. Perhaps I should wash you, rohir nín, while I am being scrubbed?”

Without waiting for an answer, Legolas dipped his fingers into the soap tin, spreading the pale green mixture over his hands. “I shall smell like Imladris, as well,” he grinned, breathing the scent in deeply as he began slathering Elrohir’s body, his fingers firmly mapping the hard muscles.

The elf-knight hissed as the wandering hands slid around his back, soaping and kneading, forcing his body forward, and causing his aching erection to rub tantalizingly against the prince’s groin. A moment later, a hoarse oath burst from his mouth as slippery fingers stroked up and down his crease, then breached his body without warning.

“Language, ‘Roh...language,” Legolas chided teasingly, his emerald-dark eyes sparkling. “Raise your legs. I cannot stoop to wash them with ‘Dan’s hands in my hair.”

“Nearly done, ‘Las,” Elladan offered absently, his attention focused on untangling the soapy golden mane before him.

“Aye, then it will be _your _turn, el nín,” Legolas chuckled, firmly rubbing his soapy hands over Elrohir’s legs as they were lifted obediently. “Wet your hair, ‘Roh.”

“In charge now, are you, wood-elf?” Elrohir asked with mock affront, before sinking beneath the water to emerge a moment later with his back turned.

“It would seem so,” Legolas retorted cheekily as he ran his fingers slowly over his lover’s scalp, drawing a moan of appreciation, before gently pulling the soap through the silken ebony strands.

“Hold a minute, ‘Las, and rinse your hair,” Elladan broke in, stepping back to allow the prince to submerge, the now-clean golden tresses gleaming like sunlight in the clear water.

“Come over here, tôren, and I will help you scrub,” Elrohir offered with a grin as his hair was once again seized. “I seem to be unable to move.”

Elladan moved to stand in front of his brother, drawing a deep breath as strong hands moved over his shoulders, spreading the silky liquid higher and higher, until slick fingers were sweeping repeatedly over the tips of his ears. Forcing his eyes open against the pleasurable tingle, Elladan met a midnight-dark gaze.

_You are wicked, rohir nín._

_Perhaps. But I have scarce begun._

Reluctantly releasing his twin‘s ears, Elrohir asked, “May I move now, 'Las?”

“Aye, you can move now, “ Legolas said with a final swipe of his fingers through the slippery black locks. “Rinse your hair, 'Roh. And wet yours, ‘Dan.”

The prince bit back a grin as both twins plunged beneath the surface obediently, Elladan reappearing with his back turned expectantly. Lathering his hands once more, Legolas worked the sweet-smelling soap into his lover’s hair, then across his back, fingers digging pleasantly into the tight muscles.

“Valar, that feels good,” Elladan sighed, rolling his head from side to side before resting his forehead on Elrohir’s shoulder.

“I think you are melting him again, ‘Las,” Elrohir chuckled as he reached again for the soap tin. “Stand up, ‘Dan, so I can wash you before you flow away.”

Elladan stifled a groan as his brother began sliding soapy hands over his chest and arms, knowing fingers swirling around his peaked nipples and tugging gently on the piercing ring. The groan became a hiss as the hands traveled lower, causing his stomach to ripple and twitch as a thumb pressed teasingly into his navel. Whimpering in protest, he felt the teasing hands slide over his hips and down his legs, kneading the muscles deftly, but leaving his aching groin untouched. Slowly the wicked fingers traveled back up his legs, lingering behind his knees, and then on the sensitive skin inside his thighs...

Suddenly the hands were gone, and Elladan’s eyes flew open, a growl of warning sounding in his chest. “Rinse your hair, 'Dan,” Legolas said quietly, a smile playing on his lips as he urged his lover down into the water.

Moving away slightly, Legolas cast a smoldering gaze at Elrohir, and the elf-knight’s eyes widened as a thought brushed his mind.

_Go ahead, melethron. I want to watch._

Elladan raised himself from the water to find his brother but a hand’s breadth away, lathering his hands again with a decidedly evil grin on his face.

_I have not quite finished, hmm?_

Elladan had little time to ponder the cryptic remark before his mouth was caught in a fierce kiss, the strength and insistence of his brother’s demand for dominance surprising and then overpowering him.

Even as his mouth was explored by a forceful tongue, Elladan felt a slick hand wrap suddenly around his throbbing length, the firm strokes forcing a moan from his throat. “Elbereth, ‘Roh,” he breathed as the voracious mouth made its way down his neck, nipping and sucking at the wet skin. “Please...”

“Please what, tôren?” Elrohir teased gently, rocking his hips forward against his brother. “Do you want me?”

Winding his hands in the elf-knight’s sodden hair, Elladan rested his forehead on his twin’s, gazing into Elrohir's passion darkened eyes.

_Always, rohir nín._

Legolas watched breathlessly as the mirror images melded, arms and legs intertwined to pull their bodies together, mouths feeding hungrily on one another. He found himself mesmerized, as always, by what he felt certain to be the most erotic sight known to Elvendom. His twins, together.

As they had been seldom since the raiders left Mirkwood, the prince realized with a start, watching the twins scramble from the water to lie on the grassy bank. With little chance for intimacy, and _no_ reliable privacy in the wild, there had been precious few fusings in the half-year just passed. Their hunger was well explained.

Lifting himself out of the water, Legolas stretched out in the soft grass near his completely oblivious lovers, watching transfixed as they writhed together, their movements perfectly attuned as Elrohir moved to lick and suckle his brother’s hardened flesh, his fingers - slick with his own fluids - gently stretching and opening Elladan.

The idea that he should be jealous or discomfitted by the twin-bond was now incomprehensible to the prince, and he wondered vaguely how such nonsense had ever concerned him. Instead, he felt an amazement that bordered on awe, tempered by no small amount of smug pride, that these exquisite beings - nay, this exquisite _being _\- was _his_, to watch and touch as no other ever had.

Drawing his wandering attention back to the sight at hand, Legolas swallowed thickly, his mouth suddenly dry as the twins rolled fluidly, and Elladan slithered down the elf-knight’s body, pausing to nibble and tug at pebbled nipples, then trace the corded stomach lightly with his tongue before lowering his head to lavishly wet his brother’s engorged member.

The prince took a shuddery breath, reaching instinctively to grasp his own aching shaft, and found his wrist caught suddenly in an iron grip. Looking up in surprise, he met Elladan’s coal black gaze.

_Not yet. We would have you join with us._

Shivering slightly as he remembered the chaotic sensations of his last experience with their fusing, Legolas nodded and was immediately drawn into the tangle of pale limbs, Elrohir claiming his mouth in a searing kiss as Elladan’s insistent tongue lapped teasingly at his entrance, then pushed through suddenly, earning a sharp hiss from the prince.

A moment later, the hiss became a moan as slick fingers breached him, curling expertly to stroke him from within. Legolas pressed down on the retreating fingers, growling his displeasure as they left his body.

Licking and nipping a trail of red ovals up the Legolas' body, Elladan caught his mouth in a lingering kiss, then pulled back, arching one ebony eyebrow in unspoken question.

In answer, Legolas leaned over and brushed a soft kiss over each swollen mouth, then moved away slightly. Elladan rolled to his knees and elbows, arching into the air in graceful invitation as Elrohir moved above, entering him in one sure thrust which sent twinned groans into the trees. The silvery sheen began to spread almost immediately, curling around the joined forms until both shimmered luminously, and the prince thought surely the light must be visible in the raider’s camp.

_I do not believe so, anor nín. The sun is still quite bright._

Taking a deep breath, Legolas moved toward the extended hands and slipped beneath Elladan, allowing the gentle warmth of the glow to settle over him, soothing his spirit with the comforting sense of completeness - of belonging - that emanated from his joined lovers.

The prince was confused when urged to his back, but understanding dawned quickly, and he lifted his legs, spreading them wide as Elladan pushed steadily forward, burying himself completely.

At once Legolas was caught up in the swirling sensations that had so overwhelmed him before. A maelstrom of pleasure bordering on pain rushed over him, and he felt the fierce ache pool in his groin as Elladan began to move carefully between his lovers, whimpering at the feeling of being both filled and sheathed, the sensations magnified twofold by the fusing.

Just when Legolas thought he must end it, or go mad, a hand wrapped firmly around his weeping length, stroking in perfect time to the increasingly forceful thrusts, and a voice echoed in his mind.

_Let go, 'Las. Scream for me._

It was too much, and scream he did, letting go a keening wail as he spilled copiously, the iridescent fluid splashing hotly over Elladan’s stomach, as well. A single thrust later, a blended howl rang out as the twins released together, collapsing heavily on the exhausted prince.

Their movements perfectly synchronized, the twins dropped to either side of Legolas and snuggled tight against him, their legs comfortably tangled. “We need another bath,“ they chuckled drowsily, in stereo. “Later.“

The prince smiled and pressed a soft kiss to each forehead, his eyelids trying to close. “Aye,” he agreed with a sigh, giving in to the warm pull of sleep. “Later.”

  


*~*~*~*~*

  


anor nín - my sun  
el nín - my star  
tôren - my brother  
rohir nín - my knight  
melethron - lover

  



	3. Chapter 3

Legolas ducked into the healing tent, a relieved smile spreading across his face as he caught sight of his injured friend. Tiriadon sat on a pallet, a pile of rolled bedding supporting his back and a mug of broth in his hand. A clean white bandage where one red-gold braid should have been was the only real sign of the captain’s injury, though to the prince’s critical eye he remained a bit pale.

“You are looking better,” Legolas said cheerfully, dropping to the ground beside his friend.

“As are you,” Tiriadon teased with a grin, “though I am surprised to see you sit with nary a groan. You were gone for quite a time.”

“I had a nap, if you must know, Tiri,” the prince retorted with mock affront, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Tiriadon laughed outright, his moss green eyes twinkling. “Aye, Legolas, I can see that,” he said. “It is obvious from the redness of your ears and the bite marks on your neck that you had quite a long nap.”

“Oh, Valar,” Legolas groaned, one hand going instinctively to his throat. “Is it that bad? Truly?”

“Indeed it is,” Tiriadon replied breezily, thoroughly enjoying his friend’s discomfiture. “I have seldom seen such glorious bruises, and your ears look nearly raw.” Snickering in spite of himself, he added, “Really, my lord - such a display. It is appalling. What will your troops think?”

Legolas arched one golden eyebrow, punching his tormentor lightly on the shoulder. “They will think it was high time someone beat you senseless, captain,” he said with a broad grin. “You are simply jealous.”

“As a matter of fact, you _did_ make off with my healer,” Tiriadon agreed, a wince of discomfort distorting his smile. “Where have you left your peredhel, Legolas? My head could use another of those vile concoctions to ease the pain.”

“I think ‘Dan tarried to give us time to talk,” the prince answered, all teasing forgotten as he helped his friend lie back on the bedding. “I will find him.”

“Thank you,” Tiriadon said with a sigh, closing his eyes against the throbbing of his wound.

Legolas cast a last worried glance at the injured elf, then left the tent to search for Elladan. He quickly found the elder twin among those tending the fire. “Tiri is in pain, ‘Dan,” he explained, pulling Elladan along toward the healing tent. “I am afraid he has taxed his strength in joking with me.”

Tiriadon opened his eyes as they entered the tent, managing a reassuring smile for Legolas despite his pain. “I am well,” he protested as Elladan knelt beside him, checking the wound for bleeding. “I need only a pain draught.”

“That is likely, captain, but you will forgive me if I judge for myself,” Elladan said, looking closely at the injured elf’s eyes. Satisfied, he stood and moved to the collection of herbs and elixirs that spilled from a worn pack, quickly mixing the needed tonic.

Eyeing the cloudy yellow-green mixture suspiciously, Tiriadon drew a deep breath. “It is a different color than before. Do I care to know what is in _this_ one?” he asked in resignation.

“Nay, probably not,” Elladan answered with a grin. “It would likely only worsen the taste. I added an elixir to help you sleep, and it has changed the color.”

The captain wrinkled his nose at the bitter odor, but swallowed the pain draught obediently. Glancing mischievously at Legolas, he turned back to the the elder twin with a smile. The prince followed his friend’s gaze to the deep purple ovals that graced Elladan’s neck.  _“Tiriadon,”_ he began warningly, “do not...”

Elladan raised an eyebrow questioningly, looking from one Mirkwood warrior to the other. “Thank you,” Tiriadon said, his eyes dancing with mirth as they met the confused grey gaze. “And I am glad to see that _you_ had a nap, also, Elladan.”

  


*************

  


_~The Borders of Imladris 2151 III~_

Thranduil breathed deeply, savoring the crisp scent of evergreens and rushing water. Though his party had not yet been challenged, the woodland king knew well that he and his guards had been sighted and judged no threat to the hidden valley.

Even the tired horses seemed refreshed by the cool air, their steps becoming light and eager as the travelers slowly descended the steep path into the vale. The way was winding and narrow, but the elven steeds were surefooted, even over the loose stones that littered the ground. They had been foaled in the gloom of Mirkwood and raised on its treacherous trails, and were more than a match for the natural defenses of Imladris.

Confident in his mount’s abilities, Thranduil let his mind wander freely over the events of the past months. The disclosure of Legolas’ involvement with Elrond’s sons. Elrohir’s near-fatal encounter with a spider, and the resulting arrival of Elrond and Glorfindel. His renewed relationship with Glorfindel, and by extension, Erestor. The surprising and gratifying changes time and trial had wrought in Anteruon.

The departure of Legolas and the Peredhil twins with the raiding party, their quickly reported successes followed by lengthy silences as they presumably moved further and further from the Halls. According to the most recent missive, they had turned toward the Grey Mountains, following the last of the ruffian bands.

The light-hearted farewells as he had ridden away from the Halls with Elrond and Glorfindel, headed for Imladris, anxious and excited as an elfling on his first venture into the world. The early spring day had seemed full of promise.

A grimace crossed the king’s fair face as his thoughts turned to Barangolas, an unwelcome image of the youngest prince, covered in blood and deathly still rising in his mind. Black blood and red, dry and horribly fresh . . . blood running like a stream from the deep gash in his son’s side.

Thank the Valar that the messenger had reached him before the party left the canopy of Mirkwood, and that Elrond had turned back as well, bringing his legendary healing skills to the aid of the fallen woodland prince.

Five months had passed since Elrond and Glorfindel left Mirkwood for the hidden valley, the Balrog-slayer agreeing to go only after Thranduil promised to journey to Imladris before summer faded. Barangolas was fully recovered, a faint silvery scar the lone reminder of the blow that nearly ended his life - and even that would fade with time. Both the court and the forest were without disturbance for once, and Anteruon had proven himself well able to rule in his father’s absence in the weeks following the youngest prince’s wounding.

Still deep in thought, Thranduil was nearly unseated when his mount stopped short, neighing as though in welcome.

“And a very good day to you, also, Dagorfaen,” an amused voice said, the sentiment seemingly echoed by a fierce snort from the speaker’s snowy white steed.

Thranduil raised his head slowly, a smile spreading across his face as he looked into sparkling blue eyes. Glorfindel sat astride Asfaloth, his golden hair secured in side braids, the silken strands gleaming against the cool blues and greys that were the badge of the Imladris warrior.

So intent in his regard of his lover was Thranduil that he failed to extend the expected formal greeting. When the silence lengthened past bearing, one of the Mirkwood warriors cleared his throat nervously. Still holding the captain’s sapphire gaze, Thranduil extended his arm in a traditional greeting and said, “Mae govannen, my friend. I believe we are expected.”

Glorfindel gripped the offered forearm, his lips curling into a dazzling grin. “Mae govannen, Thranduil," he replied. "Welcome to Imladris.”

  


*~*~*~*~*

  


Dagorfaen - ‘battle spirit’ (Thranduil’s horse)

Mae govannen - Well met

  



	4. Chapter 4

_~Imladris 2151 III~_

Silence, broken only by the muted clatter of cutlery and the ringing clink of glass against the wooden table, fell over the chamber once again. A distinct air of tension began to build in the room, causing it to feel confining despite the dappled light of late afternoon and the scented breeze that wafted through the open arches.

Erestor repressed a sigh and searched for a topic of conversation that would not increase his guest’s obvious unease. Having exhausted both the current state of affairs in the woodland realm and the details of the king’s journey, the advisor detoured into what he hoped was a nonthreatening subject. “You expect Legolas and the twins to return soon, then my friend?”

“Aye,” Thranduil replied, struggling to overcome his lingering nervousness. The unusual feeling of uncertainty both surprised and annoyed him. By the Valar, he was no blushing innocent, trembling under the gaze of his mentor! And he had been acquainted with Erestor for millennia. Drawing a calming breath, he continued, “They were headed for Ered Mithrin at last word, and planned to return to Mirkwood as soon as their task there was completed.”

Erestor nodded. There was no need to elaborate on the nature of the task, and words of reassurance were pointless. Legolas was a warrior, as were the twins. They would engage the brigands and the elven party would triumph, or they would fail. They would return, or they would die. Dwelling on the risks of battle was worse than useless - that way lay madness.

Taking a sip of his wine, Erestor eyed his companion curiously. “Forgive my boldness, Thranduil,” he began, “but you approve? You accept Elladan and Elrohir, and their relationship with the prince?”

The woodland king was silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “I accept it because Legolas is happy,” he said slowly. “I cannot, in honesty, say that I understand.” Meeting Erestor’s eyes, Thranduil added, “I have some basic knowledge of the twin-bond, but the details were only rumor to me.”

“And you are not disturbed?” Erestor asked bluntly, holding the king’s emerald gaze.

Thranduil bit his lip. “I do not know,” he answered frankly. “The twins have spared me the necessity of deciding while in Mirkwood.” Pausing to refill his wineglass, he continued, “I have long been fond of both Elladan and Elrohir. And I do not judge their actions, for their situation is not mine. But I would not choose to see them act as lovers do.”

One ebony eyebrow arched as Erestor spoke again. “Did Elladan disturb you, then, after his brother’s injury? Surely he was less than reserved in his attentions to Elrohir at that time.”

“I thought little of it,” Thranduil admitted. “There was much at stake, and my attention was given more to succoring them until Elrond arrived than to finding fault.”

“Glorfindel said it was your support that held Elladan together, and thus sustained Elrohir,” Erestor offered, frowning as a faint flush stole over the king’s face. Surely Elrond had expressed his gratitude before, so why was...then suddenly Erestor understood. The flush was not one of modesty due to praise, but one of discomfort at the mention of Glorfindel’s name.

Hesitating a moment, Erestor placed a hand on his companion’s arm. “Do you not think it would be best to talk about it, my friend?” he asked gently. “I would not have us spend your visit verbally dancing around the issue.”

His color deepening, Thranduil covered Erestor’s hand briefly with his own before rising from the table. “I do not know what to say,” he sighed. “I feel as though I have wronged you.”

“Because you bedded my lover,” Erestor replied, his words a statement rather than a question.

“Your bonded mate,” Thranduil corrected. “I begin to fear it a mistake.”

“Would it help to know it was my idea that Glorfindel approach you?” Erestor returned, forcing back a smile as Thranduil’s eyes widened.

“_Your_ idea?” the king managed, nearly speechless with shock.

“Aye,” Erestor replied composedly. “We have long wondered if you would be averse to joining with us. Glorfindel was loath to approach you without me for this very reason, but I urged him to seek you out if the opportunity presented itself.”

“But _why?_ Thranduil asked, running one hand over his face.

The smile that curled Erestor’s lips was now obvious. “Surely you know that you are very fair, my lord.”

“So is Glorfindel,” Thranduil pointed out wryly. “So are you.”

“You are bereft of your mate, and we know what it is to lose a lover,” Erestor explained earnestly. “ We thought to offer you comfort, beyond that which a casual tumble can provide.” Raising a hand to forestall the king’s next protest, he added, “Our motives are not all noble, however. I would guess that you have no experience with two males?”

“I have not,” Thranduil agreed, feeling curiously apologetic as he met the glowing indigo gaze.

“It is no matter,” the advisor said reassuringly, “and I would wager you will well understand our desire to share our bond with you.” A decidedly wicked grin spread over Erestor’s face. “In the morning.”

  


************

  


_~Grey Mountains 2151 III~_

Legolas dropped a broken arrow, the traditional sign of a valorous death in battle, on the cairn that covered the fallen warrior’s body. Raising his head, he stared unseeing over the plains that extended from the base of the mountains toward the forest. Toward home - a home to which Berioron would not return.

The Mirkwood troops had said their farewells, and now turned their attention to packing for the next morning’s journey. The bonfire which had consumed the brigand’s remains was smothered, and only the watch fires broke the rapidly deepening shadows. Elrohir moved among the horses - checking wounds, applying salves, wrapping legs - soothing the tired and skittish mounts with his quiet presence.

Elladan sorted herbs and bandage rolls, stowing them in expectation of having the tent struck before the party retired. Hearing a quiet exchange outside, he stepped to the open flap in time to see three of the Mirkwood patrol leaving. Tiriadon stood at the tent entrance, showing little sign of the injury that could easily have threatened his life but two days past.

“I am nearly finished, Tiri,” Elladan offered quickly. “They may strike the tent now. I would not hold up our departure.”

The Mirkwood captain shook his head slightly, his one remaining braid swinging. “I instructed them to leave it until morning.” In answer to the arch of an ebony eyebrow, Tiriadon nodded at the lone figure still standing over the rocky grave. “Legolas has had time enough alone with Berioron,” he said quietly. “He will need you tonight, Elladan, if only for comfort. I would give him what little shelter there is from prying eyes.”

“And what of you, captain?” Elladan asked curiously. “Have you no need of comfort?”

Tiriadon grinned broadly, his moss-green eyes twinkling. “Is that an invitation, peredhel?” he asked with a snicker. “Legolas would think little of it, I daresay.”

Elladan returned the grin. “Little, indeed. Though I understand my virtue is safe with you, at any cost.”

“It is,” the captain admitted cheerfully, “but I would not care to test my resolve in that particular way, if it is all the same to you.” Becoming serious, he sighed. “Sílolwen awaits my return. I will shed my tears on her shoulder, as always.”

“She is lucky, my friend,” Elladan said, gripping his companion’s arm firmly.

“I would disagree,” Tiriadon contradicted with a smile, clapping Elladan on the shoulder. “I am the one blessed.” Looking toward the cairn, he drew a deep breath. “Go to him, my lord. I will find Elrohir.”

  


************

  


Elladan frowned in concern as he approached the grave site. Legolas seemed unaware of his lover’s presence, his clouded gaze still focused on the distant edge of Mirkwood. As the elder twin reached the cairn, however, the prince began to speak, his back still to Elladan.

“It is funny, really. I know Berioron is gone to the Halls of Waiting, that there is naught left here but a broken shell. Yet I am reluctant to leave him alone and return to the forest.” After a moment he continued, “It seems that there should be more, ‘Dan. More to mark the end of an immortal life than a broken arrow and a pile of stone.”

Elladan moved close behind Legolas and began rubbing his tense shoulders soothingly. “I know, anor nín,” he sighed. “It seems there should be some marker, some ritual to fill the void. But there is only time.”

Turning in Elladan’s arms, the prince snuggled tight, burying his face in the hollow of his lover’s throat. Elladan pressed a chaste kiss to Legolas’ forehead, his fingers twining idly in the golden braids that brushed his cheek. “Come back to the fires, ‘Las,” he urged after a space of time. “Tiri has left us the tent for the night, and ‘Roh will be waiting. I will fix you a sleeping draught if you like.”

“I do not wish to go back yet,” Legolas retorted, his voice muffled against his companion’s skin. “And I want no sleeping draught.”

“It is time, anor nín,” Elladan began. “We should...”

The thought was never completed. Elladan found himself caught up in a plundering kiss, an almost violent assault born of the sorrow and anger that burdened his lover. Struggling to remain calm, he offered no resistance to the tongue that thrust aggressively into his mouth, nor to the hands that twisted his hair roughly, pulling his head back to expose his throat to sharp teeth and bruising lips.

When the hands moved to pull impatiently at his tunic, however, he grasped them firmly, meeting his lover’s wild emerald gaze. “No, ‘Las,” Elladan said, softening his words with a kiss to each trembling hand. “Not here. Not like this.”

“Why not?” Legolas purred darkly, pressing tightly against his lover. “‘Tis said that the wild men couple on the graves of their kin, to appease the spirits.” Elladan bit back a groan as his ear was engulfed by a hot mouth, his stomach tightening as the silky voice dropped lower. “Do not fret, el nín,” the prince breathed, his tongue flicking teasingly across Elladan’s ear. “I would not ask you to yield. I wish to ride you, melethron, until I no longer have strength to move.”

Lost in a haze of real and promised pleasure, the elder twin was jerked from his stupor by a savage tug at the lacing that secured his leggings. Suddenly aware once more of the cairn at his feet - and the curious onlookers - Elladan caught his predatory companion by the shoulders, shaking him sharply. “_Legolas!_” he hissed quietly. “We are not wild men, my prince. And we are providing an evening’s entertainment for your troops.”

Meeting Elladan’s concerned grey gaze, Legolas seemed to become fully aware of his surroundings for the first time. A look of abject guilt crossed his face as he took in his lover’s bruised mouth and ravaged throat. “Valar, ‘Dan, I am sorry,” he groaned, reaching up to touch the abused skin. “I do not know what possessed me...but I want you so...”

“Never mind,” Elladan whispered soothingly, casting a warning glance at the observers. “You are exhausted, anor nín. You need to rest.”

Slipping an arm around his lover’s waist, Elladan urged him toward the healing tent.

  


*~*~*~*~*

  


Berioron - protector  
Sílolwen - shining maiden

anor nín - my sun  
el nín - my star  
melethron - lover   


  



	5. Chapter 5

_~Grey Mountains 2151 III~_

Elladan slammed his fist against the ground, fighting to hold back a howl as he was unceremoniously sheathed in velvet heat. Though not by nature prudish, he found his attention torn between the sounds of activity beyond the unsecured tent entrance and the almost painful tightness of his lover’s unprepared passage. “Wait, ‘Las,” he gasped, gripping the prince’s hips in a vain attempt to still them. “You will injure yourself. And the door flap is not lashed.”

Pushing the restraining hands away impatiently, Legolas leaned forward, his fingers splayed across Elladan’s chest, nails scraping at pebbled nipples. “None will dare disturb us, melethron,” he purred, nipping sharply at Elladan’s jaw before pushing himself upright once more. “The noise alone will discourage intruders.” Without waiting for a reply, the prince lifted his hips and quickly sank back onto the piercing length with an unstifled groan, a faint grimace crossing his face.

“Please, anor nín,” Elladan managed, bucking up in spite of himself as his lover’s movements became more rhythmic. “Let me...”

“Hush, ‘Dan,” Legolas ordered, his hand covering Elladan’s mouth firmly. “There is naught you can do, lest you wish to bind me against my will, so you may as well stop protesting, and enjoy.”

Meeting the dilated emerald eyes searchingly, Elladan nodded and allowed his arms to fall back to the blankets, forcing aside his own unease at the prince’s fey mood.

“Very good,” Legolas crooned, a triumphant smile spreading as he bent to capture his lover’s mouth in a fiery kiss, tugging and nipping at the already bruised and swollen lips. “I want no tenderness,” he breathed, lapping at the tiny spot of blood that gleamed on Elladan’s lip. “I want to forget.”

For a time Elladan struggled to remain quiet, trying to calm and soothe his near-frantic lover. In the end, his awareness of the world outside fell to Legolas' desperate hunger, and he made no attempt to stifle the shout that burst forth as hot fluid dappled his chest and strong spasms drew him to the brink of release. A moment later Elladan’s eyes flew open in disbelief, his climax abruptly halted by a painfully tight squeezing at the base of his aching erection. _“What in all of Arda do you think you are doing?”_ he growled, staring at his still-shuddering lover.

“I am not yet finished,” Legolas panted, arching his back as he lowered himself again, never loosing his grip on Elladan’s shaft. “Not yet...”

“Then take it up with ‘Roh,” Elladan said, his eyes flashing dangerously, though his voice remained deceptively soft. “Because I am _quite_ finished. Or I will be in a moment. Let go.”

The prince hesitated, his eyes narrowed as though considering Elladan's resolve.

_“Let go, Legolas,”_ Elladan hissed, his fingers tightening painfully on his lover’s arms.

The building anger behind the command finally penetrated the prince’s fugue, and he relaxed his hand, letting go a keening wail as he was breached by two savage thrusts before a rough groan signaled Elladan’s release. Collapsing bonelessly on top of his lover, Legolas buried his face in Elladan’s neck for a long moment before raising his head to meet clouded grey eyes. “That was not so bad, was it, melethron?”

Holding the prince’s gaze, Elladan answered quietly, “If you would have the truth, I usually prefer to remove my leggings.”

Looking down in surprise, Legolas noted his lover’s hastily lowered leggings with a chuckle. "Let me help you with those,” he said, removing the offending breeches before pulling a blanket up to cover their damp bodies. “I was in something of a hurry, it would seem.”

“Aye, it would seem that you were,” Elladan replied without inflection, making no effort to cradle the body that curled tightly against his.

Settling his head on the nearest shoulder, Legolas pressed a drowsy kiss to the damp skin beneath his lips, sliding immediately into an exhausted sleep.

Elladan was still for a moment, then sighed, brushing back a twist of tangled golden hair before carefully turning to his side and pulling the limp form closer. “Sleep well,” he whispered against the prince’s flushed forehead.

When Elrohir entered the darkened tent, Elladan was still idly stroking the silken strands, seemingly oblivious to his brother’s arrival. “I see you started without me,” the elf knight teased quietly, stripping off his own tunic. Catching sight of the tangled pile of clothing that littered the ground, he added, “And neglected to replace your leggings.”

“I will dress before I go to sleep,” Elladan answered, his tone causing the younger twin to frown in concern.

“What is amiss, tôren? “ Elrohir probed, dropping to the ground beside his brother. “Is ‘Las not...” Catching a glimpse of his twin’s bruised throat, he grasped Elladan’s chin, forcing his face into the dim light. “Sweet Eru, ‘Dan!” he breathed, taking in the scratched and swollen mouth, and the liberal spattering of abrasions that marked his twin's jaw. “What happened?”

Sensing his brother’s discomfort through their bond, the elf-knight stiffened suddenly, his eyes hard and fell. “Did you...he did not..._did he hurt you?_” Elrohir demanded hoarsely, his hand already moving toward the sleeping prince.

Catching his brother’s wrist, Elladan shook his head. “It is still ‘Las we are speaking of, tôren,” he reminded his twin. “He meant no harm.”

“His intention comforts me little, and you less, I wager,” Elrohir retorted acidly, though some of the tension left his face. “I will cleanse those scrapes for you, el nín,” he said, rising to rummage in the packed supply of herbs and elixirs.

Elladan closed his eyes, allowing the gentle touch to soothe his spirit even as it eased the sting of his broken skin. When the light contact ceased, he raised his eyes to meet Elrohir’s worried grey gaze.

“Do not concern yourself with your clothing. The guard is plentiful, and the enemy vanquished,” the elf knight murmured, running his fingers through the rumpled raven locks. “Is there naught else I can do, 'Dan?”

Licking his tender lips carefully, Elladan hesitated briefly. “Will you hold me, ‘Roh? Just for a moment?”

“For always, tôren, ” Elrohir replied, stretching out and wrapping his brother in a snug embrace.

_For always._

***************

  


Legolas woke reluctantly, with a nagging sense that something was not quite as it should be. Taking a careful inventory, he identified the problem almost at once.

The air was unseasonably cool, and his back was cold.

The prince reached instinctively for the warm body that should have been behind him, but encountered only fur-covered ground. Sitting up in surprise, he regarded his lovers with a rising sense of unease.

Elrohir lay close behind his brother, his face buried in the still-mottled throat, his arms wrapped protectively around his twin’s body. Legolas carefully lifted Elladan’s hair away from his face, swallowing a guilt-laden oath as he took in the healing scrapes and fading bruises. His hand moving impulsively to smooth the tousled ebony strands, he froze motionless as a single harsh word echoed in his thoughts.

_Nay._

Legolas raised his head to meet the elf-knight’s cold grey gaze, flinching as though slapped when the scathing voice continued.

_You have done enough._

Disentangling himself cautiously, Elrohir stroked his brother’s hair until Elladan settled back into a drowsy reverie. Then he rose and pulled on his tunic, only speaking when he turned to go, his words curt and commanding. “Get dressed. We will talk outside.”

  


******************

  


Elrohir prowled restlessly around the quiet camp, nodding wordlessly to the guards who manned the watch fires. When he saw Legolas emerge from the tent, he waited for a moment then turned and headed up the path, toward the relative privacy of the bathing pools.

Hurrying after his obviously disgruntled lover, Legolas tried frantically to formulate an adequate response to the tirade he felt certain was coming. He failed spectacularly.

Elrohir stopped suddenly, just short of the lower pool, and met the prince’s wary gaze with apparent calm. “Would you care to explain what you did to him?”

Desperate to break the tension that threatened to steal his very breath, and reassured somewhat by the younger twin’s quiet manner, Legolas teased weakly, “Surely you are not jealous, ‘Roh. You were nowhere to be found.”

Both ebony eyebrows arched sharply as Elrohir regarded the prince in disbelief. “Jealous?” he spat out in amazement. “I am not _jealous_, wood-elf, I am as angry with you as I have ever been with anyone whose life I value.”

“I was joking,” the prince said defensively. “I did not really . . . ”

“It is not a matter for mirth, Legolas,” Elrohir retorted tersely. “‘Dan looks as though he has been mauled. I have seen fewer marks on those taken by force.” Pinning the prince with a furious glare he added, “And you are untouched.”

Staring at Elrohir in horror, Legolas snapped heatedly, “He had no complaints.”

“Are you sure, Thranduilion? Did he make no protest, or did you choose not to hear?”

“I...I...he did not...” the prince began, the planned rebuttal trickling into silence as his own words came back to accuse him. '_There is naught you can do, lest you wish to bind me against my will, so you may as well stop protesting, and enjoy...'_

“I meant no harm,” Legolas finished lamely.

“I do not doubt that,” Elrohir replied, his voice a shade less hard. “Yet harm was done.” Drawing a deep breath, he said, “I remember a time when you accused me of seeking to use you for my own pleasure, without any regard for your desires.”

“Aye, I remember,” Legolas agreed quietly. “I was hurt.”

“‘Dan is hurt, also,” Elrohir stated flatly. “He would have done anything you asked to ease your pain, Legolas - but you did not ask. You used him like a common whore, as though he was nothing more to you than a conveniently hard body.”

As Legolas started to protest, he was silenced by an upraised hand.

“It may have not been your intention, but that is what happened nonetheless. And though ‘Dan may tell himself that you were grieving, that you meant no harm, it hurts still.”

Legolas was silent for a long moment before answering morosely. “He tried to calm me, to hold me, but I would have none of it.” Shivering, he met the elf knight’s frosty gaze. “I do not know what to say to make it right.”

Though Elrohir’s face remained stern, a hint of warmth reached his eyes for the first time since rising. “I believe _‘I am sorry, 'Dan,’ _would be a good beginning.”

  


*~*~*~*~*

  


melethron - lover   
anor nín - my sun  
tôren - my brother  
el nín - my star  


  



	6. Chapter 6

_~Imladris 2151 III~_

Elrond hid a smile as he watched Thranduil succumb to Erestor’s gentle but insistent public seduction. The king quickly fell under the spell of the Erestor’s quiet attention and light touches, his earlier unease fading in the comfortable surroundings.

The crowd was large in the Hall of Fire, many elves joining the gathering simply to catch a glimpse of the Mirkwood royal. “You are causing quite a stir, my friend,” Elrond remarked, his smile widening. “It is a good thing you are spoken for, else I should have a riot on my hands.”

Thranduil snorted good-naturedly, shifting closer to Erestor in his attempt to reach the bottle of miruvor the three elves were sharing. “I cannot believe-” he began, stopping to nod his thanks as the advisor poured more miruvor, “-that your people are so taken by my hair, Elrond, when they live daily with Glorfindel and the Lady Celebrían.”

“It is not the hair in this case,” Erestor explained, his indigo eyes sparkling with mirth, “but what it crowns. The exotic King of Mirkwood is a figure of legend among the younger elves of the valley.”

As Thranduil began to shake his head in disbelief, Elrond broke in seriously. “It is true, my friend. Anteruon is what, fifteen centuries?”

“Nearly sixteen,” the proud father agreed with the ghost of a smile.

“It was several years before his begetting when you last visited Imladris,” Elrond pointed out. “Legolas came to us one winter as an elfling, but you could not leave Mirkwood to travel with him.”

“Has it truly been that long?” Thranduil mused in amazement.

“It has, indeed,” Erestor answered, smiling at his friend’s surprise. “Many of those vying to see you are of an age with the twins, or even younger. The rest are elders who wish to see how Oropher’s son turned out in the end.” Falling silent, he tilted his head as though listening, then turned and took Thranduil’s arm. “Glorfindel has returned from patrol, and he is going up to bathe. Come along. We will take up a tray, as he is sure to be hungry.” Leaning closer, his breath tickling the king’s ear, Erestor murmured, “Quite hungry.”

  


***************

  


_~Grey Mountains 2151 III~_

Legolas walked slowly back toward the camp, reluctant to face Elladan, yet eager to have the meeting behind him. When he reached the tent site, he stopped in consternation, watching as the lightweight fabric was expertly folded and packed away. “Where is ‘Dan?” he asked Tiriadon, looking around with a frown. “I must speak with him before we leave.”

“I am not sure,” the captain replied uneasily. “He headed for the stream.” Looking intently at Legolas, Tiriadon lowered his voice. “Is something amiss, my friend? I have never seen him so solemn, not even in the midst of battle. And his face...his throat...it looks as though...as if....”

“It is as if he were mauled. Say it and be done,” Legolas said hoarsely, casting a bleak look at his captain. “Aye, Tiri, something is amiss.”

The prince hurried toward the shallow stream, his heart pounding in his throat, and caught sight of Elladan almost immediately. The elder twin had obviously bathed in the icy water. He stood tying his leggings, a sheen of moisture still visible on his bare chest and arms, his raven dark hair tied back to reveal the full extent of the past evening’s folly.

Legolas inhaled audibly as he came near enough to see the myriad of bruises, bites and scrapes that marred Elladan’s skin. Stopping several paces from his silent lover, he found himself at a loss for words, and started visibly when Elladan addressed him without meeting his eyes. “Was there something you needed?”

“I...I...wanted to talk to you,” Legolas said in a rush, taking an uncertain step forward. “I know it is little comfort, but I am sorry, 'Dan. So sorry.”

“You are right. It _is_ little comfort,” Elladan replied after a moment, his voice carefully neutral. Raising clouded grey eyes, he met Legolas' gaze. “But I know you meant no harm.”

“My intention matters little when my actions have hurt you so, ‘Dan,” Legolas said, reaching toward his lover. The prince’s stomach knotted sickeningly as Elladan stepped back, avoiding the impulsive touch. “Will you forgive me, el nín? _Can_ you forgive me?” he asked fearfully.

“I have already said that I know you meant no harm, Legolas,” the elder twin answered. “Let us speak no more of it.”

“But we need to speak of it, “ the prince began imploringly. “There must be-”

“We need to prepare for the journey,” Elladan interrupted, pulling on his tunic. “There is much still to pack.”

“I will braid your hair, if you like,” Legolas offered hesitantly, as they started back toward the rest of the camp.

“That is kind of you, but you need not trouble yourself,” Elladan said formally, turning away before the prince could protest. “Elrohir will do it.”

  


****************

  


_~Imladris 2151 III~_

Thranduil smiled as the sounds of an impromptu water fight spilled from the open bathing chamber door. His anxiety much relieved by Erestor’s warmth and Elrond’s cordial, the king slipped off his formal tunic and boots before settling in one of the comfortably overstuffed chairs to wait.

A waterlogged wail was abruptly silenced, replaced by a kiss-smothered chuckle, and Thranduil found himself suddenly a bit melancholy. Though he had taken lovers since his queen’s death, he had not allowed himself to become close to any one bedmate. He could offer naught but pleasure, for his soul was bound, and he feared forming an attachment that might end in pain for an unwary partner.

More than anything, he missed the daily interaction with his queen - the teasing, talking, and cuddling that were so much a part of a strong bond. Thranduil sighed and reached up to unbind his tightly woven braids, only to have his hands pushed aside.

“Let me do that, my friend,” Erestor insisted, leaning down to brush a soft kiss over Thranduil’s mouth. His nimble fingers flying, Erestor soon had his hands full of silken strands. “Your hair is paler than ‘Findel’s,” he announced with interest, smoothing the waves left by the binding. “‘Tis more like sunlight than gold.”

“Is that a fault or a blessing, then?” Thranduil asked teasingly, his spirits brightened unaccountably by the simple attention.

“A blessing, definitely,” Erestor replied with a smirk. “I shall know who has been shedding on my pillow.” Releasing his friend’s hair, he added, “Go on into the bathing chamber. Glorfindel likes company, save when he is in a foul mood. I will lay out our robes to warm.”

Though Thranduil entered the bathing chamber uncertainly, he was quickly put at ease by Glorfindel’s cheerful manner and obvious delight at his company. Glorfindel kept up a continuous stream of banter as he stepped from the tub and toweled himself dry, mercifully ignoring the king’s covetous stare.

A half-hour’s passing found all three elves sprawled on the heavy rug in naught but robes, quickly polishing off the last of the cheese and fruit from the dinner tray. Stretching lazily, Glorfindel turned his sapphire gaze on their guest. “Have you given thought to how you would have us begin this night?”

Drawing a deep breath, Thranduil noted idly that miruvor really _did_ help. He was only vaguely discomfitted by the frank question. “I would have Erestor choose,” he responded readily. As Erestor began to protest, he raised one hand in a plea for silence. “Please, my friend,” he said, touching Erestor's arm. “It would assuage the last of my guilt.”

Arching one ebony eyebrow at Glorfindel, who shrugged agreeably, Erestor turned a contemplative gaze on the king before rising gracefully. “I believe I shall enjoy this greatly,” he said smugly, extending a hand to Thranduil, “and I shall make sure that you do, also.”

The king accepted the offered hand, his glance flickering between his two companions. Some communication to which he was oblivious had passed between the bonded pair, of that he was sure. Fighting a flash of unease, Thranduil allowed himself to be led to the pillow-strewn bed.

Erestor urged his companion to sit, meeting the wary emerald eyes with concern. “We would not harm you,” he said soberly, unbelting his robe. “_I_ would not harm you, nor distress you. A word, and all will cease.”

“Aye,” Thranduil breathed before speech failed him momentarily, his attention completely captured by the sensual slide of blood-red silk over pale flesh. The robe slid unheeded to the floor, revealing a lightly muscled form, the translucent skin warmed by the glow of candlelight. Enormous eyes of an indigo so deep as to seem black met his own with no hint of reticence. Obsidian-dark hair spilled unbound down the advisor’s back, the ends just brushing the tops of his thighs.

“Do I please you, then?” Erestor asked impishly, amusement glimmering in his dark eyes. “Or has distaste stolen your voice?”

“Not distaste,” Thranduil managed, as his robe joined the other on the floor, and then he was borne down onto the soft mattress by surprisingly strong arms, his mouth thoroughly explored by an invading tongue. All anxiety fled before the hands and mouth that expertly plied his body, tugging and suckling at his pierced nipples, blazing a trail of wet fire across his chest and abdomen, stroking him quickly to full hardness. A groan of unrestrained pleasure escaped the king’s lips as a gossamer light touch brushed his groin and his arousal was engulfed in a warm mouth, beset by teeth and tongue. Groans and whimpers increased in volume as fingers slick with some unknown fluid pressed into his body, stroking him from within. A fierce pressure began building low in Thranduil’s belly, and he tugged urgently at the silken hair that was spread over his trembling body. “Wait,” he gasped, “I cannot...I will...”

Erestor raised his head to look at his nearly incoherent victim. “Aye, you will, indeed,” he agreed with a grin before lowering his head to swallow his lover’s weeping length, his fingers moving to deftly flip and twist the gold nipple rings.

Thranduil arched off the bed, biting his own hand to muffle the howl that burst from his chest as he spilled into the caressing warmth. Shuddering in the aftermath of his climax, the king weakly returned offered kisses, moaning at the taste of his own seed on Erestor’s tongue.

Erestor buried his face in his lover's hair, nipping sharply at one flushed ear. “Now we will play,” he announced silkily, causing goose bumps to crawl over Thranduil’s body. Lifting his head to meet the satiated emerald gaze, he continued, “I would take you, if you will allow it, my friend.”

Not trusting himself to speak, Thranduil nodded, offering no resistence as firm hands urged him to elbows and knees, his flushed face cradled in the rumpled coverlet at the foot of the bed. Then his hips were caught in a sure grip and he was mounted without preamble. There was but a moment’s respite before Thranduil felt his body lifted, and he settled fully onto the impaling flesh with a whimper, his back pressed snugly to Erestor’s chest.

“Are you well?" Erestor breathed, his hands moving soothingly over his lover’s skin.

“Aye,” Thranduil sighed, the practiced touches quickly reawakening his desire. As the word left his mouth, a warm fist folded around his filling shaft and sharp teeth sank into his shoulder. “Watch him, then,” Erestor ordered, his tongue easing the sting of his teeth.

Raising his eyes obediently, Thranduil was unable to suppress a yearning groan, or still the tremor that ran through his body.

Glorfindel stood near the foot of the bed, his blue robe open to reveal a powerfully muscled body, golden hair hanging in sensual disarray over his broad shoulders. As Thranduil stared with rapt attention, the captain ran one strong hand over his own chest, stopping to lazily tweak a pebbled nipple.

The king licked his dry lips as the robe fell away, and the wandering hand moved lower on Glorfindel’s shimmering body, sliding easily across the sweat damp skin. Sapphire eyes dilated with desire met Thranduil’s astonished gaze, and a sultry smile spread across Glorfindel’s face. “Do you like it?” he murmured, shuddering as his hand continued its descent, cupping and kneading his tight sac.

“I do,” Thranduil answered hoarsely, rocking instinctively into Erestor’s grasp, drawing a satisfied chuckle from the advisor. Thranduil watched breathlessly as Glorfindel continued his exhibition, somewhat surprised that watching another pleasure himself should be so arousing.

At last one large hand closed around the Glorfindel’s straining erection, and a groan of relief escaped all three elves as he began to stroke in earnest, his hand moving rapidly as his thigh and buttock muscles began to clench rhythmically.

Thranduil’s head fell back, his eyes closing in anticipation as the hand moving on his aching length drew him nearer and nearer to release. He was taken unaware when Glorfindel’s mouth closed over his arousal and the captain’s fierce grip steadied him against brutal thrusts from below. Eyes flying open in shock, the king watched the golden head move once...twice, then he was wailing without thought or reason, his body trembling in a violent release that left him limp and dazed.

Caught in a complacent fog, Thranduil was only idly aware of Erestor’s climax a heartbeat later, or the hot rush of fluid that dappled his thighs as Glorfindel spilled at the same instant. Long moments passed before he stirred to find himself snugly cradled between his lovers.

Turning his head to meet Glorfindel’s brilliant blue gaze, then Erestor's soft indigo eyes, the king drew a deep breath. “That was amazing,” he said, pleasure warring with exhaustion in his voice. “Amazing.”

Glorfindel chuckled, the affectionate sound sending a wave of warmth through Thranduil’s body. “And it has only begun.”

  


*~*~*~*~*

  


el nín - my star  


  



	7. Interlude I - Lovers and Friends

_~Imladris 2151 III~_

Thranduil stretched carefully, reveling in the gentle aches and twinges that assured him the previous night’s events had not been a fevered dream. Pushing back a wayward strand of ebony hair, he studied Erestor's face intently in the dim predawn light. The deep indigo eyes were closed in peaceful slumber, the often solemn lips curled in a contented smile.

“Surprised you, did he?” an amused voice whispered, and the king raised his eyes to meet Glorfindel’s sparkling gaze.

“He did,” Thranduil admitted. “I find the experience hard to reconcile with the quietly impressive elf I greeted yesterday, or the reserved advisor Legolas spoke so fondly of after his visit.”

“But not with the warrior you knew in the Second Age, perhaps?” Glorfindel chided gently. “‘Tis understandable that Legolas should mistake the role for the elf, my friend.”

“But folly that I should make the same error?” Thranduil asked with a wry grin. “I suppose so. In my defense, I was regaled with tales of pranks and indignant outrage during the twins' visit to Mirkwood. They even told of a blush or two.”

Glorfindel chuckled softly. “‘Rohir could sometimes cause a crow to blush, my friend,” he replied. “He learned from a master.”

“Meaning yourself?” Thranduil snorted, then bit his lip apologetically as Erestor’s eyes fluttered open.

Stretching lazily, Erestor lifted one elegant eyebrow at his mate. “Yet another dawn riser, I see?”

“Aye, it would seem so,” Glorfindel answered with a grin before pressing a quick kiss to Erestor's cheek. “You shall have to adapt.”

“Hardly,” Erestor retorted with a smirk. “If I have not adapted after near three millennia in your bed, I doubt I shall change now.” Turning his head to meet Thranduil’s questioning gaze, he explained, “I am completely uninterested in sunrises, abhor the early morning twittering of birds, and require several cups of strong tea before facing the breakfast hall.” As he snuggled comfortably between his companions, his eyes closing again, he added, ”I am, in fact, a slug.”

  


*************

  


_~Rhovanion 2151 III~_

Legolas stared disconsolately at the starry sky, reluctant to face yet another night sleeping in the ever-widening chasm between himself and the twins. The bodies that had once curled tightly against him now lay stiff and straight, a perfunctory hand occasionally lighting on his shoulder. Each night he considered moving his bedroll, and each night he stubbornly refused - to sleep otherwise seemed akin to admitting defeat.

Rubbing his face wearily, Legolas sighed. Not only his nights were restless and broken. The days of travel had been filled with Elladan’s excruciating politeness, and Elrohir’s obvious irritation. The elf-knight seemed increasingly exasperated, as though Legolas was failing some unknown test. The battle party was but a day’s ride out of Thranduil’s realm, a realization which chilled Legolas to the heart. For once they arrived at the Halls, there was naught to stop the twins from turning for Imladris, leaving him alone and their centuries-old relationship in tatters. An empty ache lodged in the prince’s chest at the very possibility, and he angrily blinked back the tears that stung at his eyes. _‘It cannot end like this,’_ he thought. _‘It cannot. But I see no clear path...’_

“You must talk to Elladan, my lord.”

The voice broke into his anguished musings, and Legolas raised his head, disconcerted, to meet Tiriadon’s determined gaze. Shaking his head slowly, he replied, “I have tried, Tiri. He will not...”

“How many times have you tried?” the captain demanded. “Twice? Thrice? Try again.”

“Once, the morning after...after it happened,” Legolas admitted, wincing at the astonishment on his friend’s face. “Elladan said he did not wish to speak of it,” he added defensively.

“Elbereth, Legolas!” Tiriadon exclaimed. “What did you expect him to say? I wager his pride was damaged enough, without showing you the wounds.” His tone softening, the captain continued, “This is destroying you all. You are moping, Elladan is brooding, and Elrohir, Valar preserve us, is muttering and cursing like an enraged dwarf.” Squeezing the prince’s shoulder, he repeated, “Talk to him.”

As Legolas opened his mouth to protest, Tiriadon raised one hand, forestalling any objections. “Talk to him _now_. Before I lash the three of you to a tree.”

  


*~*~*~*~*

  



	8. Chapter 8

_~Rhovanion 2151 III~_

Legolas drew a deep breath, then strode rapidly toward the fire, determined to approach Elladan now, before his courage failed utterly. Stopping a scant pace from the spot where the elder twin sat, he addressed his wronged lover directly, sparing no notice or greeting for the surrounding elves. “I would speak with you, ‘Dan,” he said, silencing Elladan’s protest with a gesture reminiscent of Thranduil. “By the stream crossing, at moonrise.” Fully expecting to be tackled and pummeled by an enraged elf-knight, Legolas was startled to see a flicker of something approaching approval in Elrohir’s piercing gaze. Raising his hand to stem further objections, he repeated, “At moonrise, el nín,” the endearment nearly sticking in his dry throat.

As he walked toward the copse of trees that surrounded the meandering streams, Legolas said a silent prayer that his quaking legs would carry him out of sight of the astounded warriors. Despite Tiriadon’s insistence, he knew well the risk he had taken. If Elladan did not appear, if his lover had been only further wounded by his peremptory manner, then there was little else Legolas could do. But the elder twin had already shown himself reluctant to face the issue, and had he allowed Elladan time to refuse him again, naught would have been achieved. _‘At least I have made the effort,’_ Legolas thought morosely. _‘The decision is his, now.’_

Settling with his back against one of the enormous beech trees that surrounded the intersecting streams, the prince finally allowed the facade of control to fall away. He glanced up at the velvety black sky, but found that the stars, which usually seemed warm and reassuring, twinkled this evening with a cold and mocking light. Eärendil was nowhere to be seen. Dropping his head to his knees, Legolas closed his eyes, seeking solace in the musical voice of the stream and the rush of a light wind through the trees. Each moment seemed an eternity, and hope ebbed low before he felt, rather than heard, the approach of a lone elf.

Elladan dropped to the ground beside the prince, carefully maintaining the polite distance that now always separated them. His voice, when he finally spoke, was quiet and resigned. “What if I had not come, Legolas?”

“Then I would be truly lost,” the prince replied, reaching determinedly for his lover’s hand. Elladan started and moved to withdraw from the touch, but Legolas held on, interlacing their fingers in a once familiar gesture. “Do not pull away from me, Elladan,” he pleaded. “Let me speak.”

Acknowledged by the faintest nod, the prince swallowed with difficulty. “I am sorry, 'Dan. There is no recompense I can offer, no words that will change what happened...”

“I have said that I know...” Elladan interrupted, only to be silenced by a finger to his lips.

“...that you know I meant no harm,” Legolas finished. “Aye, you have said so. But it is not enough that I meant no harm, and well I realize it. I misused you, caused you pain in body and spirit, and naught will change that fact. It is done.” Blinking back the tears that were stinging his eyes, he continued, “But please, gwadoren..._please_...”

Elladan raised his head sharply at the long unused endearment, and glimmering grey eyes met the prince’s imploring gaze.

“Bar me from your bed if you must, ‘Dan. ‘Tis little more than I have earned. But do not bar me from your heart. I cannot bear the thought of living without you, without ‘Roh.”

Legolas' voice trailed off into silence as he waited anxiously for some response. Any response.

“I do not wish to bar you from our bed, ‘Las,” Elladan said after a long moment, his voice hoarse with unshed tears. His thumb tracing patterns absently on his lover’s palm, he added, “And it was I who failed you, in some ways.”

Legolas shook his head in denial, his eyes wide, as he squeezed his lover’s hand tightly.

“I tried not to mind, anor nín,” Elladan said, his eyes trained on the silvery sparkle of the flowing streams. “I truly did. But I wanted so badly to hold you, to comfort you. You wanted oblivion, not gentle words. And it _hurt_. I felt used, as though any aroused body would have sufficed.”

“You did comfort me, ‘Dan,” Legolas replied, a single tear escaping to wind down one cheek. “It was I who asked far too much.”

“But it should not have been too much,” Elladan argued, guilt limning his voice. “You should not have been forced to deal with my fragile ego as well as your own grief and anger.” He drew a shaky breath and continued, “My pride was injured, and I thought...nay, I _hoped_ that if we did not speak of it, my ire would fade, and with it the guilt.” Searching his companion’s face for understanding, Elladan sighed. “But it did not fade, ‘Las. And instead of facing it - and you - I hid behind my affronted facade. I should not have-”

"_No_," Legolas interrupted, his eyes mithril-rimmed above wet cheeks. “_I_ should not have. It was my offense, 'Dan, not yours.” Grasping his lover’s other hand, he looked beseechingly into the drowned grey eyes. “I asked for your forgiveness once before, el nín, and you would not answer. Can you grant it now? Will you give me time and chance to prove myself once more?”

“There is no need to prove-” Elladan began, but his protest was cut off summarily.

“There _is_ need,” Legolas insisted fiercely. “Perhaps the need is mine, rather than yours, but it is there.” His voice softening, he asked again, “Will you forgive me?”

Elladan withdrew one hand from his lover’s grasp, reaching up to push back a golden braid. “Aye,” he said, finally allowing his tears free reign. “I will.”

  


******************

  


Elrohir sat silently by the fire, his gaze wandering repeatedly to the thicket of trees which screened his twin and Legolas from the gathered warriors. Aggravation warred with hope as he waited impatiently for the outcome of the long overdue confrontation. The tension of the last few days had left the three elves exhausted and heartsick, the elf-knight no less so than Elladan or Legolas. Lingering anger at Legolas’ unconscionable treatment of the elder twin, combined with exasperation at Elladan’s stubborn reluctance to face the incident and his own turbulent feelings, had left Elrohir in such a foul temper that none dared approach him with any but the most critical request. Save one.

Tiriadon lowered himself to the ground beside Elrohir, seemingly oblivious to the ominous scowl that graced the younger twins's face. “I brought you some tea,” the Mirkwood captain said, pushing a mug into Elrohir’s reluctant grasp. “It will not hurry them to ignore your own comfort.”

The elf-knight gave a curt nod in his companion’s direction, then returned his regard to the flickering fire.

“You are welcome, my friend,” Tiriadon retorted with a wry grin, before launching into a one-sided conversation with the glowering peredhel. Speaking randomly of the trip before them, the horses, the weather, the relative merits of Dorwinion red and miruvor...the Mirkwood elf had nearly exhausted himself as well as all possible topics when at last Elrohir reacted.

“Valar’s wisdom, captain!” the elf-knight roared, scattering the few remaining onlookers like chafe in the wind. “Will you just be silent?”

“Ah, so you _are_ yet capable of speech,” Tiriadon chuckled, completely unfazed. “I had begun to lose hope.”

“I am capable of far more than speech, I assure you,” Elrohir snapped, his eyes narrowed in irritation. “I am in no mood for levity, Tiri. There is a discussion of some gravity underway, or have you forgotten? I wish to be left in peace.”

“Why? To brood? To plan revenge? It is of no benefit that you sit and stew over the mistakes of others, my lord, while the principals struggle to reach accord. Has there not...”

“_Enough!_” Elrohir hissed, grasping his companion’s arm in warning. “I have had enough wood-elf insolence to last me for all eternity in the days just past. Leave me, before you find yourself thrashed.”

“If it will ease your anger to thrash a wood-elf, _peredhel_, then do so,” Tiriadon retorted, his own eyes blazing, “if you think that you can. But I would have you try your luck with me, rather than Legolas. He has endured far more suffering in his isolation and self-recrimination than you could offer with your hands, however deadly.” Rising fluidly, he stood glaring at the elf-knight. “Well? Shall I have them clear a grappling field?”

Elrohir stared at Tiriadon in amazement, a reluctant smile curling the corners of his mouth. “There are few in Imladris who would issue that challenge, my friend. And fewer still who will brave my moods.” Patting the ground, he shook his head. “Sit down, captain, and tell me the secret of your courage. I have no desire to throttle you...or ‘Las.”

Settling comfortably beside the younger twin, Tiriadon shrugged. “My Adar is an elf of uncertain temperament, also,” he explained with a smile, handing a surreptitiously produced wineskin to Elrohir.

Eyeing the offered drink ruefully, the elf-knight asked, “Why give me tea when such a superior libation was within reach?”

Tiriadon grinned broadly. “I did not wish to face you both enraged and intoxicated. I have been called courageous, Elrohir, but I am not a fool.”

“Indeed, captain,” the younger twin chuckled, drinking deeply from the wineskin before passing it back to Tiriadon. “I never thought...”

Elrohir shuddered suddenly, rendered speechless by the flood of unrestrained thoughts and feelings rushing over him. Elladan had dropped all barriers, whether willingly or in distress. For one agonizing moment, he could not decipher the chaos, and he rose instinctively to his feet. Then a single emotion rose clear and strong. _Relief_.

It was over.

Releasing a thankful breath, Elrohir felt the gentle brush of his brother’s thoughts.

_Join us, tôren. There is yet much to say._

“My lord?“ Tiriadon probed cautiously. “Are you...is Elladan...is everything well?”

“Aye, my friend,” Elrohir replied with a grateful sigh, turning toward the grove of trees, “I do believe it is.”

  


*~*~*~*~*

  


el nín - my star  
gwadoren - my sworn brother  
anor nín - my sun  


  



	9. Chapter 9

_~Mirkwood 2151 III~_

Legolas handed Ornfaer’s reins off to a stable hand, then turned to Elladan. “I must make my report immediately. News of our loss will spread, and I would not have the council learn of Berioron’s fall from another source.”

“Aye, it would come easiest from you,” Elladan agreed soberly. “Would you have us accompany you?”

The prince shook his head slowly, “It would be best if I go alone, as always, I think.” His gaze flickering uncertainly to Elrohir, he added, “They will have carried hot water to my chamber as soon as we were sighted. You can bathe, if you like. I shall be as quick as I can, but...”

“We will wait for you, ‘Las,” Elrohir interrupted, clasping his lover’s arm reassuringly. “Do what you must. We will bathe in the caverns with the rest of the battle party, then search out a bottle of wine and a bite or two, and meet you in your chambers.”

“It is not necessary, ‘Roh,” the prince argued. “You need not delay...”

“Hush, anor nín,” Elladan broke in firmly. “The longer you linger, the longer it will be until your return.”

“I do not deserve you,” Legolas whispered, drawing both his companions into a brief embrace. Pulling away, he caught sight of the cloud of dust and horse hair released by the contact. A grin spreading across his face, he added, “But perhaps a visit to the caverns is a good idea.”

******************

The long days of travel had left the Mirkwood warriors quite comfortable with the Peredhil twins, and Elladan and Elrohir lingered in the cavern pools, enjoying the easy camaraderie shared by those who have faced danger together and triumphed.

“You had best dry yourselves, else Legolas will be both back and bathed before you return,” Barangolas chuckled, slipping into the pool. Greeting each of the twins with a shoulder clasp, he settled against the side of the pool.

“He has finished with the council, then?” Elrohir asked, receiving the expected nod in answer. “How went the briefing?”

“Well enough,” Barangolas replied thankfully. “’Tis a bitter loss, of course, but less than was expected, truth be told.”

“And how do you fare, my friend?” Elladan asked soberly, eyeing the silvery scar that ran the length of the prince’s flank with professional interest. “That was quite a blow, from the look of the scar.”

“The filthy orch nearly gutted me,” Barangolas agreed with a wry smile. “But I am good as new, praise be to your adar, as well as the Valar. It was beyond the skill of even the best of our healers.” Brightening, he continued, “But some good was born of it. Anteruon managed admirably, both in the healing halls and in the council chamber. Ada has agreed that he might winter in Imladris every other coming, to study with Lord Elrond.”

“It will please Ada, that is sure,” Elrohir sighed. “I have not seen him so taken with an elf’s natural skill since ‘Dan began his training.”

“We should make haste, ‘Roh,” Elladan said, reaching for his towel as he rose from the water. “We still must find food to take back to ‘Las.”

“I will see to the ordering of your tray, my lords,” offered one of the archers who had just left the pool. “What would you have them bring?”

“Whatever is convenient,” Elrohir answered. “Bread, butter, a bit of cheese, cookies...definitely a bottle of Dorwinion...” Catching Elladan’s hopeful expression, he added, “And strawberries, perhaps?”

“Strawberries it is then,” the Mirkwood elf agreed with a grin. “Go to your rest. I will call for your meal.

******************

Legolas sank gratefully into the refilled tub, his freshly washed hair floating like golden river-weed around his shoulders. The warm, scented water relaxed his body, but he was unable to slow the anxious thoughts racing through his mind. So much had happened since the last time he had shared this chamber with his lovers.

Despite the heartfelt conversation, despite the apologies offered and forgiveness granted on the stream bank last eve, there was yet a lingering sense of unease in his dealings with the twins. A sense of unease that the prince felt sure could only be banished by both Elladan’s acceptance of his touch, and the assuagement of his own need to somehow offer recompense, however inadequate, for his deeds in the healing tent.

Though he had nearly wept with relief when both Elladan and Elrohir curled around him to sleep, there had been neither time nor place for further intimacies, and he now felt as nervous and unsure as a youngling on the eve of his majority.

His morose musings interrupted by the thud of the closing door, Legolas tensed briefly, then relaxed as he recognized the familiar footfalls and murmurs. Just as he started to call out, a knock sounded, followed by Elrohir’s cheerful _‘Thank you’ _and the clatter of a well-provisioned tray. A moment later the prince heard the soft _‘pop’ _of a cork and the splash of wine in a glass, then Elladan entered the bathing chamber.

Handing the filled glass to Legolas, the elder twin perched on the side of the tub and reached for a towel. “They have sent a near banquet, ‘Las,” he remarked, carefully lifting and twisting the sopping golden mane, heedless of the water splashing over his leggings. Squeezing the silken strands as dry as possible, he braided them loosely into a heavy rope. “Come and eat with us, if you have finished soaking.”

“Aye, I have finished,” the prince agreed, setting his goblet on the tub’s edge. Legolas stood gracefully and accepted the offered towel before meeting his lover’s eyes. “’Dan,” he began, “I...please...do not force yourself to...”

“Shhh,” Elladan countered, silencing the stumbling words with a shake of his head. “I am forcing myself to do nothing.” Wrapping the towel snugly around Legolas’ waist, he opened the door and urged the prince into the bedchamber.

“Dress yourself, anor nín, so I may eat without distraction,” Elrohir said with a grin, tossing a pair of loose leggings at his lover. “There is food enough here for an entire battle party.”

Legolas slipped into the offered leggings and moved to the table, the assembled feast bringing a smile to his face despite his wariness. There was indeed food enough for a company of warriors. The tray practically vanished under the abundance of breads and cheeses. A generous pile of dark, spicy cookies vied for space with a mounded bowl of deep red strawberries. Tubs of butter, honey and cream sat ready for use.

The next minutes were filled with appreciative silence as the three elves tucked into the provided meal. “I was hungrier than I imagined,” Elrohir admitted, reaching for yet another thick slice of the hearty bread.

“It is a good thing there was food enough for ten!” Elladan chuckled ruefully, nodding at the much depleted tray, “Or there would be naught left but a crust.”

“The kitchen is well used to the appetites of returning warriors,” Legolas agreed with a grin. “But you have not finished your berries, ‘Dan.”

“They will keep,” Elladan drawled, arching an eyebrow at his brother. “I wager there are more pressing matters to attend to just now.”

Legolas recognized the significance of both the teasing tone and rapidly darkening grey eyes. Drawing a deep breath, he moved restlessly in his chair, fighting the tension that threatened to overwhelm him yet again.

Elrohir looked at him appraisingly, “Come here, ‘Las,” he ordered quietly, grasping one reluctant hand. “You are making me anxious with your fidgeting.” Pulling Legolas down astride his lap, the elf-knight wrapped him in a loose embrace, one hand drawing soothing circles on the tense muscles of the prince’s back. “Why do you fret so, hmm? Naught has changed.”

“Perhaps,” Legolas answered, shivering slightly as his lover’s tongue traced his jaw line, always stopping just short of the sensitive ear. “But I feel as though there is a debt yet unpaid,” Pulling away slightly, he turned a somber gaze on the elder twin. "_‘I am sorry’_ is not enough.”

Elladan met the wary blue-green gaze squarely. “The words are not sufficient, nay,” he agreed, reaching out to toy with his lover's golden braid. “But the remorse is real, and that _is_ enough. It was a mistake, anor nín, and we both had a hand in its making. Let it go.”

“Indeed,’ Elrohir murmured absently, nuzzling the prince’s ear. “I, for one, am quite finished with food.” Sucking the ear tip into his mouth, he swirled his tongue over the tender point repeatedly. “And with conversation.”

Elladan chuckled and rose from his chair, extending a hand to Legolas. “Come along, 'Las, ere you find yourself bent over the table. I fear ‘Roh has been somewhat cheated, and his forbearance is no doubt stretched to its limit.”

The elf-knight huffed, turning to his brother in mock umbrage. “As though I would be so crass as to do such a thing. Really, tôren. You wound me.”

Elladan grinned, one eyebrow lifting in amusement. “I believe history will bear me out, rohir nín.”

“Do tell it properly, ’Dan, ” Elrohir insisted, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It was your own fault, really, for teasing so. And it was a desk.”

******************

The bedchamber echoed with ragged breathing and the soft, wet smack of lips and tongue on bare flesh. Legolas groaned in frustration, arching toward the hand that repeatedly stroked his flat stomach, always tantalizingly close, but never touching his aching arousal. If this was Elladan’s revenge, it was surely of the cruelest kind.

The elder twin raised his head, giving one last tug to the gold nipple ring as it slipped from between his teeth. “Revenge?” he queried, a lilt of amusement in his voice. “I had not thought of it as such, nay. But if it eases your mind, then you may call it revenge.”

“It is not the punishment I should choose,” Legolas panted, shuddering as the stroking hand was replaced by Elrohir’s mouth, nipping and licking the tender skin where groin and stomach met, his silken hair sliding across trembling thighs. “And stay out of my thoughts, if you please.”

“Punishment of your own choosing hardly deserves the name, does it ‘Las?” Elladan chuckled. Moving up to cradle the prince’s head in his hands, he stared for a moment into dilated emerald eyes. “But you may tell me of your choice, melethron, and we shall see,” he continued, nibbling at his lover’s mouth before capturing the swollen lips in a searing kiss.

Legolas gasped at the intensity of the assault, opening himself to the aggressively thrusting tongue that seemed determined to rob him of both reason and breath. Elladan pulled away, his own breathing harsh and uneven, and nipped sharply at the prince’s jaw. “Later,” he promised darkly, sending a tremor through Legolas' body. Turning his head to meet Elrohir’s questioning gaze, he nodded slightly, passing the bottle of oil to his brother.

_Aye, I am sure._

_‘Tis not wise, el nín. And ‘Las will not..._

_Hush, tôren, before we all grow old. It is decided._

Legolas frowned, aware of the exchange, but not privy to it. He opened his mouth to speak, his words becoming a howl as the elf-knight engulfed him in one quick movement. Barely had he caught his breath when oil-slick fingers breached his body, twisting and stretching insistently. The prince was so lost in the haze of sensation that the meaning of Elrohir’s actions did not register at once.

Only when Elladan pressed the oil vial into his hand did Legolas grasp the significance of the silent conversation. An emotion near horror seized him as he tried to press the oil back on the elder twin, almost speechless in his panic. “Nay, ‘Dan...please...I cannot. Not now...not this time...please...”

“Today we please _me_, ‘Las,” Elladan insisted, softening his words with a gentle kiss, “and I wish to be held.” Settling comfortably on his back, he raised his knees invitingly. “I trust you,” he said, catching the anxious emerald gaze. “Come love me.”

Shaking his head in pleading refusal, Legolas met Elrohir’s narrowed eyes. A flash of steel in their dark depths gave him pause even before the voice curled through his mind, its tone deceptively mild.

_Do not hurt him again, Legolas._

The prince inhaled sharply at the implicit warning as he stretched out beside Elladan. It was obvious that though the elf-knight may have forgiven him his trespass, the incident was by no means forgotten.

“Leave it, tôren,” Elladan ordered quietly, laying a hand on his brother’s arm. “It is over.”

Elrohir searched the prince’s tense features, then relaxed almost imperceptibly. “Aye, perhaps it is,” he replied, sliding around to nestle behind Legolas. Nuzzling his lover’s neck, he added lightly, “And my patience wears thin, wood-elf.”

Legolas smiled faintly, heartened by the familiar teasing. He opened the vial and drizzled a pool of the scented oil into one hand. Studying Elladan’s face closely, he asked, “Are you sure, el nín?”

“Aye,” the elder twin answered, running his fingers through the oil before curling them firmly around his lover’s weeping length. “I am, indeed.”

Legolas groaned, pushing reflexively into the slick grip. Pressing a trail of wet kisses over Elladan’s chest and stomach, he moved to lap at the base of his lover's twitching shaft before drawing his tongue slowly up the underside.

Elladan yelped, his hips lifting off the bed instinctively. Catching hold of the golden braid that curled across his stomach he tugged sharply, but Legolas paid little heed, continuing his voracious suckling as he slipped his fingers into his lover’s body, easing and oiling the tight passage.

“_’Las,_” Elladan panted, struggling to press down further on the invading hand, “enough..._enough_...”

Sliding back up the tensed form, Legolas claimed Elladan's mouth in a lazy kiss, then raised his head to lift a questioning eyebrow at Elrohir.

“Sweet Elbereth, _yes_,” the elf-knight rasped, arching against the prince. “Before I lose my mind.”

Elladan rolled willingly to his side, obediently bending one leg toward his chest, and muffled a hoarse groan as Legolas pressed tightly against his back, impaling him with one sure thrust.

Struggling to hold off a too-quick climax, Legolas buried his face in the ebony dark hair, wrapping his arms around his lover. “I love you,” he murmured, his breath ghosting across Elladan’s ear. “Always.”

“I know, anor nín,” the elder twin whispered, burrowing deeper into the trembling embrace. “And I love you.”

Legolas reached blindly for Elrohir, biting back a whimper as the elf-knight curled snugly around his body, gently forcing one of his legs forward and pushing inside him with a sigh of relief.

Despite his urgency, Elrohir remained motionless, savoring the closeness and warmth that he had feared lost forever but a few days earlier. Then Legolas stirred restlessly, and the moment was gone. Pulling back slightly, the elf-knight began to move in long, slow strokes, one hand clasped firmly Legolas' hip, compelling the prince to match his rhythm.

Already exhausted, his emotions in turmoil, Legolas quickly found his control slipping away under the driving thrusts that caressed him from within, even as they forced him deeper into the silken heat of Elladan’s body. As his muscles begin to tighten threateningly, the prince wrapped his fingers around Elladan’s arousal, his movements becoming erratic as his own body trembled with impending release.

At last it was all too much, and Legolas shuddered, burying himself in his lover’s warmth as he spilled violently, a swirl of light and color exploding before his eyes, his ears filled with his own groans. Lost in a haze of mindless pleasure, the prince was only vaguely aware of the hot cream spilling over his fist, or the stifled shout that heralded Elrohir’s release.

Long moments later, Legolas found himself cradled snugly between the twins, his head pillowed on Elladan’s chest, the reassuring thud of the elder twin’s heart lulling him quickly toward sleep. “’Dan, I...” he began drowsily, only to be silenced by the tightening of one strong arm.

“Not now,” Elladan interrupted, dropping a kiss on the prince’s flushed forehead. “Later.”

“Rest, ‘Las,” Elrohir agreed, curling more tightly around Legolas. “It will wait.”

Relaxing in the warmth of the bodies entangled with his, soothed by the steady rise and fall of Elrohir’s chest against his back, Legolas swiftly slid into a dreamless reverie.

******************

Elrohir rose carefully from the bed, slipping into his clothing and fashioning his hair into a single braid before moving soundlessly toward the door. Just as his hand touched the latch, he felt the brush of his brother’s thoughts.

_Where are you going, tôren?_

Moving to the side of the bed, the elf-knight knelt and pressed a brief kiss to Elladan’s mouth, taking in the now content grey gaze with relief. “I am going to find Anteruon, before he is off on his evening prowl,” he replied quietly. “It is near the dinner hour.”

“Wait a bit, and we will accompany you,” the elder twin offered, glancing down at Legolas.

The prince stirred restlessly, as if aware of the soft voices even in his sleep, and Elrohir shook his head, smiling slightly as he stood to go.

_Nay, el nín. You have unfinished business here._

In answer to the arch of one elegant eyebrow, he whispered, “You have your peace, tôren. Do not deny ‘Las his.”

As Elladan opened his mouth to protest, his brother silenced him with a look. “And it is useless to pretend that you do not understand. I will wait for your word before I return.”

The falling of the latch startled Legolas into full wakefulness. Stretching lazily, he buried his face in his lover’s neck. “Where is ‘Roh off to?”

“He wished to mingle a bit,” Elladan answered noncommittally. Untying the strip of lacing that bound the prince’s hair, he began to unweave the ragged golden braid. “How do you feel?”

“Well enough,” Legolas sighed and snuggled closer. “And you?”

Elladan rolled suddenly, pinning the prince with the weight of his body. “I am quite recovered,” he replied silkily, “and there is yet the matter of your chosen reparation.”

“Aye,” Legolas agreed, swallowing thickly. “There is.”

“What is you choice, then? We shall see if it meets with my approval,” the elder twin purred, nipping sharply at one ear before claiming his lover’s mouth in a brutally sensual kiss, tongue and teeth ravaging the tender flesh mercilessly. Breaking the kiss, Elladan lapped gently at a drop of blood that gleamed on Legolas' abused lower lip before raising his head to meet emerald dark eyes. “I would have an answer, melethron.”

The prince’s passion induced flush deepened under the intense scrutiny. “I believe you know my choice, el nín.”

“Say it, nonetheless,” Elladan demanded, rocking his hips against the slick column that prodded his own arousal enticingly. Catching the prince’s wrists, he pressed them down against the rumpled bed. “There has been enough misunderstanding.”

Legolas arched up into the beguiling warmth of his lover’s body, spreading his legs in invitation. “Take me,” he breathed. “Hard.”

“Hard?” Elladan echoed, wedging himself between the open thighs.

“Aye, if you wish,” Legolas whispered, bucking purposefully as his legs snaked around Elladan’s waist. “Whatever you wish.”

“It is a dangerous game you play, princeling,” Elladan growled, forcing the encircling legs higher with a practiced twist of his body. Sliding his weeping length repeatedly over his lover’s sweat-slick crease, he pressed forward to suckle one flushed ear. “A very dangerous game,” he murmured sinking his teeth into the base of the prince's throat as he pushed past the still-stretched entrance with one savage thrust.

Legolas went still, the playfully menacing whisper and sudden stab of pain-become-pleasure carrying him back in time. His overwhelmed senses reeled, and he was cradled in sweet-smelling grasses on a hot summer day. The silken hair that shrouded his face was not midnight dark, but gold-sparked silver, and he was young and afraid.

Instantly aware of the prince’s withdrawal, Elladan remained motionless. Fleeting images brushed his mind, evidence of the depth of his lover’s distress. “’Las?” he said quietly, releasing the unresisting hands. “Open your eyes, anor nín. Look at me.”

Emerald eyes flickered over his face, the vestiges of fear still visible in their depths scattering as recognition dawned. “Valar, ‘Dan, I am sorry,” Legolas managed, raising his arms to embrace his lover. “I do not know why-”

“Shhh,” Elladan broke in, raining kisses on the prince’s face. “It is alright. You are not yet rested. You have no cause to be sorry.” He was silent for a moment, stroking one flushed cheek soothingly, then asked suddenly, “Who was he?”

Legolas grinned, and it occurred to Elladan that this was the first genuine expression of mirth he had seen on his lover’s face in many days. “I do not fancy discussing my majority rites whilst you are buried in my backside, ‘Dan,” the prince chuckled, pulling Elladan down into an affectionate kiss. “It would seem that we were in the middle of something urgent, when we were interrupted.”

When Elladan hesitated, Legolas tightened his legs, drawing his lover deeper into his body. “Lost your nerve, have you, Peredhel?” he prodded, his taunting tone belied by the tenderness in his eyes.

“I have not, wood-elf,” Elladan retorted, drawing back to slam forcefully into the velvet heat. “Have you?”

“Gods, _no_,” the prince panted, raising his hips to meet the powerful thrusts. “Again...Ai, _yes_...like that... _like that_...”

Spurred on by the broken gasps and pleas, Elladan pounded into the willing body almost violently, losing all pretense of rhythm as he slipped a hand between their slick stomachs to stroke his lover’s arousal. “Spill for me, melethron,” he commanded hoarsely, leaning forward to suckle and bite the prince’s already bruised throat. “I would see your face.”

Opening his eyes to meet the elder twin’s molten black gaze, Legolas could not help but comply with the imperious order, letting go a keening wail as he showered their sweat-streaked chests with repeated spurts of iridescent white seed.

Elladan watched the prince raptly. Legolas' face flushed deeply, eyes fluttering shut in his pleasure, his teeth drawing blood from his lip in a vain attempt to stifle his cry of completion.

Finally surrendering to his own climax, Elladan pushed deeply into the wildly clenching passage, howling without restraint as he flooded his lover’s body with his release. Collapsing onto the limp form beneath him, he lay without moving, waiting for the fierce pounding of his heart to slow.

For an uncertain length of time, there was no sound in the chamber save the harsh rasp of labored breathing. Elladan at last stirred, moving off Legolas and pulling the still dazed prince into a loose embrace. Stroking the passion tousled golden hair idly, he let go a contented sigh. “May we call it settled, now, anor nín?”

“We may,” Legolas agreed, snuggling deeper into his lover’s arms. “I have no energy left for guilt.”

******************

Elrohir stopped in mid-sentence, his attention diverted from his conversation with Anteruon by the insistent nudge of another consciousness.

_‘Tis finished, rohir nín. Join us._

And another.

_Bring food._

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

anor nín – my sun  
Ada, Adar – Papa, Father  
rohir nín – my knight  
tôren – my brother  
melethron – lover  
el nín – my star


	10. Chapter 10

_~Imladris 2151 III~_

Thranduil wandered aimlessly through the lush greenery of a well-ordered garden, his thoughts restless and disturbing. For nigh a moon the king had tarried in Imladris, enjoying Elrond’s hospitality as well as the more intimate comforts offered by Glorfindel and Erestor. The day of his return to Mirkwood rapidly approached, and the imminent parting from his friends-turned-lovers preyed on his mind.

Though he longed to see his family and home once more, Thranduil was loath to surrender the warmth and comfort he had found in Imladris – and his guilt at being so torn became more pronounced with each passing day. _‘Have I betrayed her, after all?’ _he mused, his heart heavy with doubt. _‘Should I not be eager to return to our children, our realm? Instead I dread the emptiness of my own bed. I do not wish to face again the loneliness of these last years.’_

“What troubles you so, Thranduil?” a soft voice queried. “There is often relief to be had in the telling of fears.”

Startled, the king turned to find Celebrían studying him kindly. “My lady,” Thranduil replied, inclining his head in greeting. “I did not hear your approach.”

“’Tis no wonder,” Celebrían answered, a slight smile curving her lips. “You were deep in your thoughts. Will you not share them?”

Thranduil was silent for a long moment, his desire to voice his concerns warring with his fear of impropriety.

This morn Celebrían appeared less a ruler’s wife than a wood nymph, fragile and elusive. She was dressed in a simple white gown, her shimmering silver hair braided in the manner preferred by her sons, the single heavy plait falling nearly to her knees. The daughter of Galadriel might have been a young maiden were it not for the wisdom and compassion that lit her warm grey eyes.

“I am not sure it would be appropriate, though I thank you...”

Celebrían shook her head, laying one delicate hand on her companion’s arm. “I am rarely shocked, my friend, and even less often offended.” Her smile widening, she added, “And I am my Naneth’s daughter. It will be easiest if you simply concede now.”

Chuckling in spite of himself, Thranduil offered his arm to his hostess. “Indeed. I long ago acknowledged the futility of refusing Galadriel anything she sought.”

“Then I insist that you extend me the same courtesy,” Celebrían said firmly. “I would not have you leave us guilt-ridden, nor filled with doubt. Tell me what troubles you.”

Reassured by the warmth and understanding in the questioning grey gaze, the king did as he was bid. All the fears and doubt that had plagued him since the beginning of his changed relationship with Glorfindel and Erestor came tumbling out. His confusion over his place in their lives, and their place in his. The guilt spawned by his reluctance to return to Mirkwood alone, despite his yearning to see his children and his subjects. And worst of all, the suffocating fear that he had betrayed his queen, his bond, by allowing himself to seek more than physical release with another.

Celebrían did not respond immediately. Instead she indicated a grove of silver-clad trees. “Let us explore the hillside garden, my lord,” she suggested. “The twins tell me it was particularly favored by Legolas during his visit.”

Thranduil approached the massive trunks appreciatively, reaching out to touch the silvery-white bark. “Aye, I can well understand my son’s love for this place. There is a serenity here that has been absent from Mirkwood for many years.”

“Have you told Erestor and Glorfindel of your worries?” Celebrían asked after a moment’s silence. “Surely you do not doubt that they care for you deeply.“

“Nay, I do not question their affection for me,” Thranduil replied. “Only the expectations that might accompany that regard.” With a wry smile, he continued. “Having abused my eternal bond by feeling more than passing lust for another, I am faced with yet a second quandary. Do I now owe fidelity to Glorfindel and Erestor as well? Have I any cause to expect such from them?”

His companion smiled kindly. “I would say that you owe only that which you wish to give. Do not turn a blessing into a burden, my friend. But I will not speak for the living. Ask them." Celebrían squeezed the king’s arm reassuringly. "I will not speak for the living,” she repeated, "but I will venture to speak for the waiting. Miluien will understand.”

Thranduil’s eyes filled with unexpected tears. “No one speaks her name to me,” he said hoarsely, his throat suddenly tight. “The children speak of ‘Nana’, my advisors praise ‘the queen’, but none mention my Miluien. It is as though ‘tis forgotten that she was more than a naneth, more than her title.” His voice breaking, the king added, “And I fear the day when her face and voice and touch fade from my mind, as well. I would not replace her love with another.”

“Oh, Thranduil,” Celebrían sighed, turning to face her distressed companion. “Love is not finite, and every love is different. One need not replace another.”

Settling comfortably on an enormous stump, she pulled at Thranduil’s hand, urging him down. “Must Elladan and Elrohir love one another less because they have grown to love Legolas, also?”

“Nay,” the king replied, his fingers tracing the growth rings of the long-dead tree. “But that is hardly the same. And it is a quite young affair.”

“So there is still hope for an ignominious ending?” Celebrían retorted, a hint of laughter in her voice.

Thranduil shook his head. “You know I would not wish it so. It would please me greatly to see our houses joined. But that is for the future.”

“Then let us speak for a moment of the past,” Celebrían replied quietly. “Is Elrond’s love for Gil-galad diminished by his love for me? Or say you that he loves me less because he loves Ereinion still?”

Discomfited by the directness of the question, Thranduil moved restlessly. “Celebrían, I do not think it is...”

“You were there,” his companion interrupted calmly. “Was theirs a love that could be diminished by time?”

Memories flooded the king’s mind. Campfires flickered as warriors talked, laughed, sang, and loved – the nights alive with the desperate gaiety of those who know themselves doomed. Banners rippled above clashing armies and the air rang with defiant battle cries as well as the screams of the dying. The ground grew slippery with the blood of orcs, elves, and men.

And always, always there was the High King and his herald – their heads bent close in jest, their bodies locked together in passion, their raven-dark hair mingling in the wind as they fought side-by-side, back-to-back...unhelmed and unyielding. Until that final dreadful day, when Sauron was laid low at such horrific cost.

“It was not,” Thranduil answered reluctantly.

“You need not fear for my feelings,” Celebrían said quietly. “Elrond loves me, and I am happy in that knowledge. I cannot replace Gil-galad, as he could not truly replace Elros. That sundering has left a hole in my husband’s spirit which no lover can fill.”

Her eyes suddenly distant, she added, “And if someday we must part, I would wish Elrond a companion to ease his pain and treasure him as I do.”

Thranduil looked at her keenly. “Elrond is fortunate to have found you, my lady.”

“And I to have found him,” Celebrían answered gravely. “As you were blessed to win Miluien’s love, and the affection of Glorfindel and Erestor. Love need not be diminished because it is shared.”

Rising from her seat on the stump, she looked toward the formal gardens and smiled, then reached out a hand in invitation. “Come, my friend. They are waiting.”

  


****************

  


_~Mirkwood 2151 III~_

Legolas watched in amusement as his lover – who had survived all manner of battles and foes over his long life – was completely overrun by one young elf-maid with a hairbrush. “Do not frown so, ‘Roh,” he snickered. “You make quite a lovely princess.”

“Aye, he is very pretty,” Galueth agreed happily, completely unaware of her brother’s sarcasm. Her small fingers flying, she wove Elrohir’s dark hair into the same ornate braids that held her own mahogany tresses.

“You do that very well, young one,” Elladan observed with a smile, fingering the mithril beads that had been peremptorily placed in his hand.

“’Tis ever so much easier on another head,” Galueth announced seriously, tying off the last of her victim’s braids. “I cannot yet plait my own hair, though Amoniel is teaching me.”

“Amoniel?” Elrohir repeated, looking at Legolas questioningly.

“Galueth’s nanny,” the prince explained. “She is a lovely maid, despite her bizarre liking for Anteruon’s company, and has been with us since Nana passed.”

“’Ruon is going to bind with her someday,” Galueth reported blithely, as she turned a determined gaze on Elladan’s beaded braids.

“Indeed?” Legolas, replied, one golden eyebrow arching in surprise. “And how came you by this knowledge, child?”

“Please, ‘Golas,” the princess sighed, before turning her attention to unbinding Elladan’s hair. “I have eyes. And ears.”

A look of horror beginning to spread across his face, Legolas asked, “And precisely _what _have you seen and heard?”

Oblivious to her brother’s anxious state, Galueth looked around carefully before bending close to whisper in his ear. “Every night, when he comes to say ‘Rest well’, they _kiss_!”

  


****************

  


Elladan narrowed his eyes. “Is that not Tiri?” he asked, pointing to a figure on one of the second level balconies.

“It is, indeed,” Legolas answered with a grin. “And that is Sílolwen behind him. Come and meet her.”

“They may not wish for company just yet, ‘Las,” Elrohir cautioned, as the two forms seemed to meld to one. “He has been gone many moons.”

As though in reply to the elf-knight’s warning, Tiriadon’s voice rang out over the courtyard. “Elladan! Elrohir! Come join us if you have recovered from Galueth’s attentions.” Grinning at Legolas, he added, “And bring him with you, if you must.”

Climbing the curving staircase, the twins found themselves scrutinized by enormous brown eyes, which lit on their bead-studded braids, and suddenly Elladan was caught in an embrace of surprising strength, considering that the giver barely reached his chest.

“Thank you,” the auburn-haired maid said gratefully, squeezing him once more for good measure. “Thank you for healing him.”

Rendered nearly speechless by the unexpected greeting, Elladan patted one slender arm tentatively. “You are welcome, my lady. Though I did little, really.”

Tiriadon chuckled as his lover returned to his side, one arm twining around his waist. “This, as you may have guessed, is Sílolwen. These are the infamous Peredhil twins, love. The healer you have thrown yourself at so shamelessly is the eldest, Elladan. Elrohir is the one looking decidedly cheated.”

“It is simply your fate, ‘Roh,” Legolas snickered, grinning as he and the elf-knight were hugged in turn.

“We must not begin our friendship with a slight, my lord,” Sílolwen said, smiling warmly at the younger twin. “’I am pleased to meet both of you, and I doubt not that your skill saved him many times.”

Opening the chamber door, she indicated a table that was visible through the far door. “Will you join us? We have wine and fruit aplenty.”

As they followed Sílolwen onto the back balcony, Tiriadon caught Elladan’s arm. “All is settled, then?” he asked quietly.

“All is settled,” Elladan agreed with a smile. “And you have shed your tears, captain?”

“I have,” Tiriadon answered, his eyes dancing. “Several times.”

“Then we are all lucky, indeed.”

  


*~*~*~*~*

  


Miluien – gentle maiden (Thranduil’s queen)   
Amoniel – hill maiden (Anteruon’s lover)   
Sílolwen - shining maiden (Tiriadon’s lover) 

Naneth, Nana – Mother, Mama  


  



	11. Chapter 11

_Imladris 2151 III~_

Thranduil settled into the comfortable garden chair, sipping thoughtfully at a goblet of fruited wine. “This is quite good,” he said, smiling at his companions.

“’Tis refreshing, in the summer’s heat,” Erestor agreed, adeptly rescuing a strawberry from his glass and popping it in his mouth.

“Though Erestor finds as much enjoyment in the fruit as in the wine,” Glorfindel chuckled as his mate carefully retrieved another berry. His expression becoming serious, he caught Thranduil’s eyes. “Are you ready yet to share your worries?”

The king drew a deep breath and nodded. “Aye, I am. Though the Lady Celebrían has done much to ease my mind.”

Erestor nodded, looking intently at his new lover. “Our lady is very wise. She sees much that is hidden to others.”

“She does, indeed,” Thranduil replied with a sigh. “She has helped me unburden myself of much guilt and confusion, and for that I am more grateful than I can say.” Meeting his companions’ eyes levelly, he went on, “But she will not speak for the living.”

“A good thing, all in all,” Glorfindel broke in mildly. “Come, melethron. What troubles you so?”

“I would know what is expected of me,” the king said bluntly. “I feel as though I have been made alive again by your affection, by your loving. I would do nothing to jeopardize what we have built during my stay here.”

Erestor leaned forward to grasp Thranduil’s hand. “What we share with you is freely given, my friend. Nothing is expected of you, save to be truthful regarding you wants and fears.”

Thranduil opened his mouth to speak, only to be silenced by a shake of Glorfindel’s head. “We understand your question. You are free to do as you please. We will take no other in your place, but we do not ask that you remain chaste during the long months we will be apart.”

Folding his hand around the others, Glorfindel smiled. “Follow your heart, Thranduil. It will not lead you astray.”

  


******************

  


_~Mirkwood 2151 III~_

A gentle breeze danced through the open balcony door, cooling the bedchamber, which was awash in the light of the full moon. Muffled murmurs and gasps rose from the rumpled bed, and Elrohir sighed with pleasure, stretching his neck invitingly as sharp teeth and warm lips marked his skin. “Mmm, yes,” he breathed, “that is nice.”

And then he felt it. _Again._ The faint echo of melancholy - the solemnity that had become a persistent part of their lovemaking, as well as the bane of his existence. Looking at Legolas intently, he saw that the emerald-dark eyes were once again mithril-rimmed, sparkling with unshed tears. Turning to his brother, he noted that Elladan’s darkened grey gaze also glimmered in the soft light.

Elrohir rose abruptly, turning his back on his astonished lovers.

“What are you doing, ‘Roh?” Legolas asked, his confusion apparent. “Where are you going?” Elladan sat up slowly but remained silent, sensing his twin’s surging irritation.

The elf-knight closed his eyes, fingers burrowing through his own tousled hair. With what seemed a heroic effort, he kept his voice nearly free of exasperation. “’Tis supposed to be enjoyable, you know,” he said mildly, his back still to the others. “Else there is truly no point, as we are unlikely to produce any contribution to the next generation.”

“Your sarcasm is unwarranted, tôren,” Elladan replied quietly, silencing Legolas with a look.

“Is it?” Elrohir demanded, his calm facade slipping dangerously as he moved to face his twin. “You call it settled, ‘Dan. Over and done. And yet we cannot come together without surreptitiously wiped tears and mournful sighs. From the both of you.”

“They are tears of relief, rohir nín, not tears of sorrow,” Legolas said, ignoring the warning touch of Elladan’s hand. “Would you not have us treasure what has been restored?”

“I would have less weeping and more rutting in my bed,” Elrohir snapped, turning a frosty glare on the prince. Legolas winced at the stinging retort, and the elf-knight’s voice softened, becoming almost wistful. “I would have things as they were before.”

_Come here, then, tôren._

The seductive drawl curled through Elrohir’s mind, answered by a flare of heat in his groin. The ghost of a frown flitted across his face as he turned to meet his brother’s glittering gaze.

_Not that long before, ‘Dan._

One ebony eyebrow arched in disbelief and Elladan opened his mind, the corners of his mouth curling in a predatory smile as Elrohir swallowed heavily, his eyes wide and dark. The elf-knight gasped as his thoughts were flooded with an erotic mix of images and words that left no doubt as to Elladan’s intent.

Legolas watched raptly, his own heart pounding in the near palpable tension of the silent chamber. Watched as Elladan’s chin rose imperiously, the obsidian silk of his hair sliding over hard muscle and soft pillows. Watched as Elrohir moved to stand before his brother, their midnight dark gazes meeting a mere heartbeat before Elladan reached for the lacings of the elf-knight’s rough- woven sleep pants.

_I want to taste you._

Elrohir shivered as the shared thought brushed his mind, his eyes never leaving his brother’s face. Cool air caressed heated skin as his loose breeches fell open under Elladan’s impatient fingers, revealing a shaft already thick and heavy with blood. Elladan pushed the thin fabric to the floor and pressed his face to the elf-knight’s groin, inhaling the familiar musky scent with a sigh of pleasure.

_‘Tis finer than any incense or oil ever made, 'Roh._

Elrohir moaned as his lover’s breath moved over sensitive skin, and he reached for the arched branches that formed the bed’s headboard, seeking support for his trembling body. Soft skin and silken hair teased him as Elladan pressed a line of wet kisses from hip to thigh before lapping at the tender pouch beneath his arousal. His hips pushing forward of their own accord, Elrohir dropped one hand to his brother’s head, his fingers twining in the glossy ebony strands. “Please, ‘Dan,” he breathed. “Please...”

Legolas swallowed hard, his stomach tightening in sympathy as Elladan ignored the whispered plea, continuing to nuzzle and nibble at the now-snug sac. Silvery drops of fluid clung to Elladan’s dark hair and smeared one flushed cheek, and the prince was suddenly overcome by the urge to lick away the shimmering trail. Crawling across the wide bed, Legolas buried his face in the elder twin’s hair, lapping at the smoky-sweet dribbles before turning his attention to the tempting smear on Elladan’s face.

Elrohir groaned aloud as he watched Legolas, entranced by the barely visible pink tongue that moved cat-like over his brother’s hair and skin before luring Elladan into a lingering kiss. Pulling away, the prince drew his tongue lightly over Elrohir’s hip, tracing the sharp planes of muscle and bone with a line of wet fire. A moment later he threw out a steadying arm, his support keeping the elf-knight upright in the face of Elladan’s onslaught.

A wordless howl was ripped from Elrohir's throat as his brother’s mouth engulfed him without warning. His legs seemed suddenly useless, and if not for Legolas’ arm and Elladan’s firm grip on his hips, the elf-knight would surely have fallen.

Legolas shivered, his own arousal pulsing insistently as he watched the slick column disappear again and again into Elladan’s mouth, to be worked expertly by tongue and teeth.

Elrohir’s head fell back as he became lost in sensation, the ends of his raven dark hair brushing repeatedly across the gentle swell of his backside. Closing his eyes, he tightened his hold on the headboard, allowing Elladan to control his pleasure.

Legolas watched the mesmerizing swing of Elrohir’s hair for a long moment, then slid to the floor behind his lover, his hands kneading hard thighs before wandering upward to map curves and creases. Feeling Elrohir shudder under his caresses, he bit back a smirk as he carefully guided one of Elrohir’s knees to the bed. Though he was dimly aware of Legolas’ movements – and what they likely portended – the elf-knight stiffened, a broken litany of oaths and pleas spilling from his mouth, when he felt the first wet slap of his lover’s tongue.

His thumbs opening the way, Legolas lapped teasingly at the puckered entrance, waiting for Elrohir’s body to relax before pushing past the tight muscle, unconsciously matching the torturous rhythm Elladan was setting. Elrohir trembled, his breath coming in great gasps as the pressure in his groin curled tighter and tighter. At last the earlier tension combined with the agonizingly slow pace of his lovers’ movements to bring the elf-knight to an overwhelming climax.

As Elladan released his softening length with a final lick, Elrohir’s knees buckled and he collapsed into his brother’s arms.

“I love you, tôren,” Elladan whispered, stroking Elrohir's sweat-damp hair soothingly. Easing the limp form to the bed, he met Legolas' emerald gaze questioningly, a trace of apprehension gleaming in his darkened eyes.

Understanding immediately, Legolas shook his head and reached to tuck a strand of ebony hair behind Elladan’s ear. “Nay,” he replied quietly, answering the unasked question. “He has need of you now, el nín, not me. It was for his pleasure. Nothing more.”

Elladan’s relief was palpable as caught the prince’s hand and urged him down onto the bed. “We would have you here beside us, anor nín,” he whispered, pulling Legolas into a gentle kiss.

“Always,” the prince promised. Wriggling out of his sleep pants, Legolas settled comfortably against the mounded pillows. “Now,” he said, mischief sparkling in his eyes. “Entertain me.”

“By all means,” Elrohir chuckled, drowsy and content in the aftermath of his explosive completion. “Amuse our wood-elf.” Stretching languidly, he reached for his brother’s lacings. “Take those off,” he ordered, smiling slightly at the speed with which his demand was met. “Eager, are we, tôren?”

“We are,” Elladan retorted, covering Elrohir’s body with his own, scattering soft kisses over his lover’s flushed face. “I am. I need you.”

“And I need you,” the elf-knight whispered, raising his head to capture his brother’s mouth in a tender kiss. “Love me, 'Dan.”

Legolas drew a deep breath as the two identical forms melted into one another, a tangle of pale limbs and midnight dark hair. He still found the sight of his twins together breathtaking, and the tension and disharmony of the past days made this joining all the more poignant. Unable to ignore the ache in his own groin for a moment longer, Legolas wrapped one hand around his weeping erection, groaning aloud as he began to stroke the slick flesh slowly. He watched spellbound as Elrohir’s legs snaked around Elladan’s waist and the elder twin pushed forward, taking his brother with one forceful thrust. The silvery shimmer that heralded the twins’ fusing spread quickly, the light of the moon suddenly pale and cold beside the warm glow. His hand moving ever more rapidly as his climax approached, Legolas forced himself to pause as a single voice echoed in his mind.

_Will you not join me, ‘Las?_

“Nay,” he answered aloud, his voice rough in his own ears. “Tonight I wish only to watch you.”

The voice was now amused, a lilt of laughter obvious beneath the strain of passion.

_Voyeur._

“Exhibitionist,” Legolas chuckled, his hand moving again despite his best efforts to still it.

Coal black eyes met the prince’s emerald gaze.

_Then we are well matched._

“We are,” Legolas agreed hoarsely, giving in to the need to stroke faster, harder, as the entwined bodies of his lovers began to rock as one, whimpers and moans increasing in intensity until at last a blended wail signaled their release. Spilling over his own hand with a shuddering groan, the prince fell weakly to his side and lay still, waiting for the violent pounding of his heart to slow.

When strong arms reached for him, Legolas rolled gratefully into the offered space between his lovers, his head cradled on Elrohir’s shoulder, Elladan’s body spooned tightly against his back. “Was that rutting enough for you, ‘Roh?” he teased, rubbing his cheek over the elf-knight’s hard chest.

“For the moment,” Elrohir replied with a grin, brushing his lips across the silken strands that tickled his chin. “I do believe I am in your debt, however, ‘Las.”

“Deeply, rohir nín,” Legolas murmured sleepily. “And you may be sure I shall collect. Tomorrow.”

  


*~*~*~*~*

  


tôren – my brother   
rohir nín – my knight  
el nín – my star  
melethron – lover  


  



	12. Chapter 12

_~Mirkwood 2151 III~_

"_That_ is a sight I would have never thought to see, tôren," Barangolas said, shaking his head in continued amazement. "It was only spring past that they seemed likely to come to blows."

Legolas smiled slightly, following his brother’s gaze to the observation flet where Elladan and Anteruon sat, obviously deep in conversation, their gestures animated as the discourse focused on the treatment of a wound, the setting of a bone, the dousing of a stubborn fever.

"They have much to speak of since Anteruon has put away his animosity," Legolas answered. "I am glad to see them so comfortable together."

"As am I," Barangolas agreed heartily. Caught up in memories of the tension fraught days of spring, the youngest woodland prince was startled back to the present by his brother’s unexpected remark. "Pardon, tôren?"

"I said ‘tis well enough that I knew Anteruon involved with Amoniel, and a committed lover of females besides, else I would have thought him smitten with ‘Dan," Legolas replied. "His pique bordered on obsession, at times."

Dumbfounded by his brother’s unwitting accuracy, Barangolas bit back a sigh of relief when Elrohir approached, saving him the necessity of a reply. "I think you had best take this one to the caverns," he said with a grin, looking over the elf-knight’s sweat-and-dirt streaked form, "and then to the healers. Tiri and Lind have damaged him."

"I am not damaged," Elrohir retorted, wiping his face wearily with his discarded tunic. "Merely winded. Those two are quite a team."

"Aye, they are," Barangolas answered absently, his attention fixed firmly on the sparring field.

Legolas chuckled, smacking his brother lightly on the shoulder. "It would seem that we are not the only ones headed for the caverns, hmm, little brother? Or will you bed Lind without benefit of a wash?"

"Sweat does have its merits," Barangolas mused, his emerald eyes dancing with mirth as he began to move toward his lover. "But I think a long soak in a _private _tub is called for in this case."

"A private tub, indeed," Legolas repeated thoughtfully, glancing toward the platform where Elladan and Anteruon remained lost in their talk of elixirs and herbs. Turning an unmistakably predatory gaze on Elrohir, he smiled. "I will prepare you a bath in our chambers, and we will discuss the issue of debt."

  


******************

  


It was with some trepidation that the elf-knight finally rose from the bath and began toweling himself dry. Imperiously ordered into the tub, hair and skin scrubbed within an inch of his potentially immortal life, he had then been instructed to soak in the refilled tub as long as he liked. The warm, scented water eased both his muscles and his mind, and he had tarried until the bath began to cool. Slipping into the loose leggings that lay waiting near the towels, Elrohir drew a deep breath before opening the door into the bedchamber.

Late afternoon sunlight streamed into the room, dappling the woven walls with patches of gold and shadow. The balcony door stood ajar, allowing a cool breeze to waft into the chamber. Just as Elrohir realized his lover was nowhere to be seen, Legolas stepped through the open door.

The prince had changed into simple leggings as well, and Elrohir felt a familiar flare of heat in his groin as he took in the sight. Golden hair hung unbound, streaming over Legolas' shoulders, seeming ablaze in the warm light. His creamy skin glowed softly, bringing well-defined muscles into sharp relief. The blue-green gaze that had been so appraising earlier sparkled with affection, as well as desire.

"Come sit on the bed, rohir nín," Legolas said, extending a hand in invitation. "I will comb your hair, if you like."

Settling himself on the edge of the bed, a goblet of Dorwinion in his unresisting hand, Elrohir sighed with pleasure as the prince moved to sit behind him, pulling gentle fingers through the damp mass of his hair before beginning to comb the ebony strands.

The elf-knight roused himself with difficulty when the rhythmic motion ceased and turned to look at his companion questioningly. "It is hardly payment, anor nín, to have you coddle me. Or have you yet to claim your due?"

Urging Elrohir back against the pile of pillows at the head of the bed, Legolas took the empty wineglass and set it aside. "Nay, this is what I claim," he retorted with a grin, moving to sit astride the elf-knight’s thighs. "Just you, alone and at my mercy."

"I have no complaints," Elrohir chuckled, turning his head invitingly as a warm mouth moved over his throat. "Though mercy is not a quality I associate with..._Valar, wood-elf! That hurt!"_

Legolas licked the angry red bite mark soothingly, then pulled away to meet his lover’s gaze. "Less banter, more moaning, Peredhel," he said unrepentantly, his eyes dancing. "Else I shall find something to occupy your mouth."

"Indeed?" Elrohir asked, one dark eyebrow arching in amusement. "Would that be..."

"’Roh?" Legolas broke in, his breath ghosting across Elrohir’s lips. "Shut up."

The elf-knight’s retort was lost in a plundering kiss, an aggressive assault by tongue and teeth that left him breathless and vaguely uneasy. Insistent hands cradled his head, pulling gently, and then one ear tip was captured, drawn into the wet warmth to be nipped and suckled.

Legolas growled in approval as a reluctant moan was wrenched from his lover. "Aye, that is the sound I wish to hear," he crooned, releasing Elrohir’s head before pressing another searing kiss to the reddened lips.

Catching the elf-knight’s hands in his own, Legolas guided them to the thick branches that formed the headboard. "Hold tight, rohir nín," he purred, a mere heartbeat before he slid down to nuzzle Elrohir’s pierced nipple, tugging and flipping the mithril ring with his tongue.

Elrohir gasped raggedly as the sharp tingle caused by the ring’s movement coursed through his body. Agile fingers mapped the muscles and planes of his torso, a trail of wet kisses following their wandering path. A teasing tongue stabbed his navel once...twice, before sharp teeth closed on the leather ties that closed his leggings, tugging them loose with practiced ease.

Legolas chuckled, the vibrations doing nothing to ease the twitching beneath his lover’s stretched lacings. Pressing his mouth to the thin fabric, he exhaled slowly, sending a wash of warm air over Elrohir’s shaft. A satisfying howl sounded, and a triumphant grin spread across the prince’s face. "Up, melethron," he ordered, slapping his lover’s hip lightly. "You are overdressed."

The elf-knight raised his hips obediently, shuddering as his hot skin was bared to the cool breeze. Caught in Legolas' darkened emerald gaze, Elrohir watched as a curtain of silken gold descended, the ends teasing his stomach and groin in the instant before his aching arousal was engulfed. "Oh, _yes_," he breathed, biting back a whimper as the skilled tongue swirled and fluttered. "_Yes..._"

Tightening his grip on the elf-knight’s hips, Legolas let the swollen shaft slip from his lips. Ignoring his lover’s growl of protest, he flicked his tongue over the soft skin of Elrohir’s inner thighs before moving lower to nuzzle the tender sac, already drawn up snug and tight.

Elrohir went still, his knuckles whitening as he squeezed the bark-covered curves of the headboard. Desire struggled with anxiety as the wicked tongue crept lower, and he swallowed hard, searching for the words to explain.

Legolas pulled away, rising to his knees to remove his dampened leggings before settling back onto Elrohir’s lap. "I would not ask it of you, ‘Roh," he murmured, pressing a flurry of soft kisses to the younger twin’s face. "That is between you and ‘Dan."

"’Las...I..." Elrohir began, only to be interrupted by a fierce kiss.

"Not now, rohir nín," Legolas groaned, grasping both straining arousals, spreading the copious fluids. "Now is for pleasure. For us." Pressed snug against Elrohir’s chest, he impaled himself slowly on his lover’s slick length.

The elf-knight hissed as he was sheathed in the unprepared passage, fighting the urge to thrust up and bury himself without delay. His eyes fluttered closed as Legolas began to rock slowly, the gentle motion sending bolts of sensation rippling over both their bodies. Lowering his arms, Elrohir gripped the prince’s hips and opened his eyes to meet the dilated emerald gaze. "I love you," he whispered, capturing his lover’s mouth in a lingering kiss.

"Love...you," Legolas moaned, his movements becoming larger and more rapid as his body accepted and then welcomed the piercing length. "Oh, _gods_, ‘Roh..."

Elrohir groaned with relief as he felt his lover relax, and he began to move with Legolas, meeting each downward slide with an upward thrust of his hips. Spiraling quickly toward his own release, he wrapped his hand firmly around the hard length that prodded his stomach, stroking in time to the increasingly erratic lunges of the prince’s body.

Legolas threw his head back with a whimper as the strong hand closed around him, his body trembling on the edge of completion. With a final downward plunge he fell, spilling over Elrohir’s fist with a keening cry, even as he was filled with the liquid heat of his lover’s release.

Elrohir wrapped his arms around Legolas, burying his face in the sweat-damp curve of the prince’s neck with a satisfied sigh. "Shall we say my debt is paid, then, 'Las?"

"Aye," Legolas agreed drowsily, moving to curl against Elrohir’s side, "we certainly shall."

  


*~*~*~*~*

  


tôren – my brother  
rohir nín – my knight  
anor nín – my sun  
melethron – lover  


  



	13. Interlude II - Reassurance

_~Mirkwood 2151 III~_

“Legolas wished to take you, did he not?”

Elrohir’s hands stilled, fingers gripping the arrow he had been fletching. “I do not know that to be true,” he replied evasively, eyes fixed on the golden brown plumes that littered the grass. The meager supply of blue and grey feathers from Imladris had been long since depleted.

“I believe that you do, tôren,” Elladan replied calmly, dropping to the ground beside his brother. Pushing back an ebony braid, he traced the darkly bruised bite mark that marred Elrohir’s throat. “You refused him.”

“He did not ask,” the elf-knight corrected, at last meeting his twin’s steady gaze.

“Nay, I do not suppose that he would,” Elladan sighed. “The depth of his understanding often astounds me. He slips so easily into the strands of our bond-”

“I am yours first, ‘Dan,” Elrohir said suddenly, his eyes wide and dark, as though beholding some unknown threat. “I will always be yours.”

_As I will always be yours, rohir nín._

His inexplicable fear eased somewhat by the familiar brush of Elladan’s thoughts, Elrohir drew a deep breath and pushed away the unfinished arrow, twining his fingers with those of his brother. Elladan tightened his grip for a moment, then leaned back against the massive trunk of the tree that sheltered them and opened his legs, looking at his companion questioningly.

It was all the invitation Elrohir required. Moving to sit in the offered space, he leaned back against his brother’s chest, sighing with contentment as two arms wrapped him snugly and Elladan’s chin settled against his hair. Thus had they comforted one another as long as either could remember, and Elrohir relaxed into the warm embrace, the last vestiges of anxiety soothed away by the scent and touch of his twin.

Elladan was silent for a long moment, his fingers twisting one mithril-sparked braid idly. “’Las would never wish to come between us, ‘Roh,” he chided mildly, “and did he so desire, he could not. You have allowed tension to overcome your reason.”

“Aye, it is likely that I have,” Elrohir agreed finally, snuggling deeper in his brother’s arms.

Elladan rubbed his cheek against the midnight-dark hair, seeking reassurance as much as offering it. There had been little time for even such chaste cuddling since the spring, and now it seemed as if their world shifted and shook around them. “Did you wish to submit, tôren?” he asked at last.

“I...I was tempted,” Elrohir admitted, tilting his head to meet his brother’s eyes. “But I was loath to do so without your blessing.” A grimace crossed his face as he added, “And I was anxious, too, I am ashamed to say. You have always been there, el nín. A part of me fears such surrender without the anchor of your presence.”

“Shall I watch from the balcony then?” Elladan teased gently, his arms tightening in a show of comfort that belied his light words.

Elrohir snorted in mock affront, and Elladan chuckled, dropping a kiss on his brother’s nose before he continued, his voice sobering. “It is your decision to make, 'Roh. I would not be hurt or angered, and ‘Las is worthy of such trust. Perhaps you will know when the time is right.”

“Will the time ever be right for you, ‘Dan?” Elrohir asked quietly, his fingers repeatedly mapping the muscles of one strong arm.

“I do not know,” Elladan replied haltingly. “I have already surrendered much to him, in...”

“...in yielding while we are all together,” Elrohir finished with a nod. “I know. And Legolas understands what he has been gifted with, as well.”

The elder twin shook his head. “If it was a gift, then it was freely given. I did not mean to sound pompous. The greater trust was in allowing him to witness our fusing, and he did not fail us then.” Elladan inhaled deeply. “I suppose I am reluctant to truly relinquish control, save to you, rohir nín.”

“That is not a weakness, tôren,” Elrohir said earnestly. “It is simply your nature, as it has always been. You cannot change it, and I would not have you try. Nor would ‘Las, I wager.”

Elladan arched one eyebrow skeptically, and the elf-knight broke into a cheeky grin.

“Our wood-elf speaks highly of your skill with a leather strap.”

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

tôren – my brother  
rohir nín – my knight  
el nín – my star


	14. Chapter 14

_~Imladris 2151 III~_

“I will send an escort with you to the upper pass,” Elrond said thoughtfully, his gaze focused on the map spread across his cluttered desk. “The passage through the Misty Mountains becomes more and more treacherous. Each season it seems the ruffians become bolder and the weather more harsh.”

“I arrived safely with naught but my guard,” Thranduil replied, a touch of reproof in his voice. “They could no doubt see me home in like manner.”

“No doubt,” Elrond agreed dryly. “But I would not have it said that I abandoned the King of Mirkwood to his fate. And I fear I have an ulterior motive, my friend.”

“Indeed?”

“Indeed,” Elrond admitted. “The twins crossed the peaks with Arahael and his company on their trek to your realm. They will likely be returning alone, and-”

“-would think little of a guard party sent to herd them home,” Thranduil finished with a father’s instinctive understanding. “But they can hardly begrudge me an escort, and as we are likely to cross paths in the mountains...”

“Exactly.”

“They will certainly see through the ruse,” the king pointed out with a slight smile.

“Undoubtedly,” Elrond answered, a grin very much like his younger son’s lighting his face. “But I trust they are too well-schooled in diplomacy to make a fuss in the presence of visiting nobility.”

Thranduil pondered the map briefly. “If they leave the Halls as planned tomorrow, with the new moon, we should arrive at the high pass at nearly the same time. The battle party was headed for the Grey Mountains at the time of my departure. If all is well, there should be no cause to delay them past their expected return.”

Laying a hand on Elrond’s arm, the king asked impulsively, “Can you not reach them?”

“At times I can, aye,” Elrond replied cautiously. “But our link is not reliable, by any means. I rarely attempt contact over any great distance. They are young, their abilities sporadic, and I fear causing distraction at some crucial moment.”

“They should have reached the Halls soon after I entered the valley,” Thranduil said quietly. “If there were no problems, the dangers are long behind them. And the ease with which Legolas and the twins communicate is impressive.”

“That is a somewhat different situation,” Elrond pointed out carefully, “though I do not understand it completely.”

“It is as though they are bound in some way,” Thranduil agreed with characteristic frankness. “Legolas had shown no previous ability, and I did not expect such to appear for several more centuries.” Meeting his friend’s twilight gaze, the king added, “But your line is gifted in such things, and Elladan and Elrohir carry the blood of Galadriel, as well.”

“I will attempt to establish a connection, if you wish,” Elrond said slowly. “I do not deny that I have desired to seek reassurance.”

“It would make my leaving easier to bear, if I knew them safe and whole,” Thranduil responded honestly. “But I do not ask that you move against your own judgement.”

“I do not,” Elrond assured his companion. Moving to sit in one of the overstuffed chairs that flanked his desk, he added wryly, “Make yourself comfortable, my friend. We shall likely be here a while.”

With that Elrond closed his eyes, his thoughts already reaching out toward Mirkwood.

******************

_~Mirkwood 2151 III~_

Anteruon presided with evident satisfaction over the farewell feast he had ordered for the last night of the twins’ visit. Lanterns swung gaily from branches overhead as the muted rumble of conversation and laughter rose from the crowded tables, warriors and diplomats alike enjoying the unusually lavish offerings.

“You have bested Ada, I do believe,” Legolas announced with a smile, raising his glass in an impromptu toast to his brother. “This is a meal fit for the Valar.”

“Hardly that, tôren,” Anteruon retorted gruffly, though he was unable to hide his pleasure at the praise. “I could not allow the twins to leave us unheralded, after they provided such valorous service.” Catching sight of the mischievous twinkle in Elrohir’s eyes, he quickly added, “To the realm. Valorous service to _the realm._”

“Do not mind ‘Roh,” Elladan said, casting a chiding glance at his twin. “He often forgets himself. Or too seldom forgets himself, as the case may be.”

_Sleeping alone tonight, are you ‘Dan?_

_I think not, tôren._

“Mind your manners, or leave the table,” Barangolas broke in, his emerald eyes dancing. “’Tis impolite...”

“...to mindspeak in public,” Elrohir finished with an amused snort. “You begin to sound like Ada, or Glorfindel.”

“That is hardly an insult,” Barangolas retorted with a grin. “I have been compared to less flattering characters than the Balrog-slayer and the Lord of Imladris.”

Galueth had remained silent, happy to merely observe the teasing banter between her brothers and the twins from the security of her seat on Elladan’s knee, but she was forced to speech by the mention of her beloved new friend. “You are not like ‘Del, Bar’las,” she announced disparagingly. “’Del is big, and brave, and pretty, and _perfect_.”

Frowning at the burst of laughter which met her statement, the princess turned to her current champion with narrowed eyes. “Do you not think ‘Del is perfect, El’dan?”

“Absolutely perfect, little one,” Elladan agreed, giving the pouting elfling a squeeze. “Though Barangolas is certainly brave, too, is he not?”

“Aye, he is very brave,” Galueth replied generously. “But he is not as big, nor as pretty as ‘Del. And he is not perfect.”

“A fair evaluation,” the youngest prince conceded, chuckling. “But it is your bedtime, child. Amoniel is waiting. You must rise early in the morning if you wish to see the twins off on their journey.”

The princess surrendered her hold on Elladan with obvious reluctance, but moved obediently to hug each of her brothers in turn.

“I will join you shortly, and we will have a story,” Anteruon promised, winning a smile from the solemn elfling.

Coming to stand beside Elrohir, Galueth’s gaze glistened. “Good night, El’hir,” she said, embracing him tightly. “You and El’dan will not leave without saying goodbye, will you?”

“We would not dream of doing so,” the elf-knight assured her, dropping a kiss on her intricate mahogany braids. “Sleep well, my lady.”

Watching Galueth leave the pavilion, Legolas sighed heavily. “There will be more hearts than mine torn by your going, I fear.”

“It is time we were back to the valley, though,” Elladan said soberly. “As it is, we will be hard pressed to arrive before the harvest ends.”

“And it is high time Ada returned to the Halls, as well,” Anteruon interjected with a grin, breaking the somber spell that had fallen over the gathered elves. “There is much annoyance and scarce joy in this business of being king.”

“Perhaps,” Legolas teased, “but Amoniel seems to like you in ruler's rags. You have spent precious little time in your own chambers these last weeks, tôren.”

“Aye,” Anteruon admitted good-naturedly, “I will grant you that the nights bring some compensation for days spent in council.”

“And for days spent on the training field,” Legolas said impishly, pushing back his chair. “I believe it is time we were leaving the table and seeking our chambers.”

“Though not necessarily our rest, yes?” Barangolas retorted, smirking as Anteruon rose from his seat at the head of the table, signaling the meal ended.

**********************

_‘Adan..._

Elladan stopped, glancing sharply at his twin as the faint echo sounded.

_‘Adan..._

Elrohir turned to look back at his brother, a slight frown creasing his brow. “’Dan? Are you well?”

“Aye,” Elladan answered slowly, his eyes scanning the darkened garden. “I thought I heard someone call.”

“It was likely some partygoer leaving the pavilion,” Legolas suggested, his smile fading when Elladan did not agree.

“Someone called my name.”

_‘Adan..._

Elladan’s eyes widened in sudden comprehension. “_'Adan? _It is Ada!” Reaching urgently for Elrohir’s hand, he bowed his head in concentration. “Help me, tôren.”

The younger twin clasped the offered hand, opening his mind fully that he might share and strengthen his brother’s thoughts. Immediately he heard the familiar voice, louder now in the stream of their joined consciousness.

_‘Adan?_

A pause.

_‘Rohir?_

_I am here, Ada. We are here._

_Valar be praised. Are you both well?_

_We are, my lord._

_And Legolas? He is unscathed?_

_He is, aye._

_‘Adan? What is amiss?_

_We have lost a warrior to the Halls of Waiting, Ada. One known as Berioron. Will you tell King Thranduil?_

_I will, my son._

_Ada?_

_Aye, ‘Rohir?_

_Is all well in the valley? With Glorfindel and...and the others?_

_It is, indeed. Will you leave the Wood as planned?_

_Aye. Tomorrow with the dawn._

_I will see you within a fortnight, then. I love you, ‘Adan, ‘Rohir. Elbereth’s protection to you, my sons._

_We love you, Ada._

The woodland prince watched in awe as the connection first drew his companions in, blinding them to the physical world, then released them slowly, leaving the twins blinking owlishly at the gardens of Mirkwood.

“Is Ada well?” Legolas asked anxiously. “Is something amiss?”

“Peace, anor nín,” Elladan answered, slipping a comforting arm around the prince’s shoulders. “All is well. Ada merely wished to reassure himself. And the king, I wager.”

“There will be more tales to tell than ours when Thranduil arrives home, ‘Las,” Elrohir said with a grin, drawing a snicker from Legolas.

“Indeed,” Elladan agreed, his eyes darkening as they swept over his brother and their prince. “But just now, I find myself yearning for our bed.”

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

tôren – my brother  
Adar, Ada – Father, Papa  
gwador – sworn brother   
anor nín – my sun


	15. Chapter 15

_~Mirkwood 2151 III~_

Legolas sighed with contentment, his fingers winding in the silken ebony strands that trailed across his arm. “It is a beautiful night.”

“It is, indeed,” Elladan agreed, turning his head to look up at the stars that twinkled through the gently swaying branches above. Pressing closer to the warm body beside him, he settled his head once more on his lover’s shoulder.

Legolas tightened his hold, dropping a kiss on Elladan’s hair even as he reached down to draw caressing circles on Elrohir’s bare back. The elf-knight murmured appreciatively, his breath misting warm and damp across the hard planes of the prince’s stomach.

Shivering at the pleasurable sensation, Legolas chuckled, his thoughts drawn unexpectedly into the past.

“What amuses you, ‘Las?” Elrohir asked, running one hand idly over the soft grey fabric of his brother’s leggings, biting back a smile as Elladan moved restively, pushing toward the feathery touch.

“I was thinking of your long-ago visit to the Wood...our drunken escapade that ended in your piercings. It was a night much like this one. Starry and pleasantly cool. We spent it on a flet near the sparring field. Do you remember?”

“Aye, we remember,” Elladan replied, a lilt of laughter in his voice. “You were in graver danger than you knew that night, anor nín.” Lifting his head to meet a questioning blue-green gaze, he added, “You were quite intoxicated. And more than a bit enticing.”

Despite the flush that stained his cheeks, Legolas could not suppress his next words. “My memories are muddled,” he admitted, “but I recall watching you, realizing for the first time how beautiful you were together, how sensual your bond seemed.” A pause. “Why did you not approach me?”

“You were but two centuries past majority,” Elladan began, “we feared-”

Elrohir raised his head, interrupting his brother with a wide grin. “Ai, tell the truth, tôren,” he chuckled. “Had you not given in to reverie, ‘Las, our noble intentions would have no doubt fallen away. Between the wine and the piercings, we were strung as tightly as a champion’s bow. Your eyes had scarcely lost focus before he was assailing me.”

“_Assailing_ you?” Elladan repeated in mock affront, rising to one elbow. “I find your choice of words lacking, 'Roh. When have I ever _assailed_ you?”

Elrohir did not deign to reply, one ebony eyebrow arching skyward in unspoken comment.

A wolfish smirk spread across Elladan’s face. “Your point is noted. When have I ever assailed you without your eager compliance, then, tôren?”

“Enough, the both of you,” Legolas broke in, with a snort of amusement. “I understand that you did not drift quietly off to dream, hmm?” His fingers moved purposefully over sensitive ears, drawing a blissful purr from each of the twins. “Tell me what I missed.”

Elrohir bent to flick his tongue teasingly along a taut muscle before meeting the prince’s darkening eyes. “Shall we show you?”

Legolas gasped, the wet slap of the elf-knight’s tongue sending a fiery tingle through his body. “Aye,” he breathed, shifting restlessly as a warm mouth nipped at his throat while Elrohir’s nimble fingers dealt with his lacings, slipping off the loose leggings.

“Careful, ‘Dan,” Elrohir cautioned, his eyes twinkling. “We were allowed no markings that night, remember?”

“Why?” Legolas groaned, one hand tangled in Elladan’s hair, holding firmly as sharp teeth grazed his skin.

“It would have been a bit difficult to explain away in the morning, do you not think?” the elder twin murmured indistinctly, intent on the vibrant bruise growing under his efforts. “Though I believe we may forgo that restriction, rohir nín.”

“Aye, we may,” Legolas agreed breathlessly, shifting toward the mouth that hovered near his groin. “I would have my body bear evidence of this night for days to come.”

“It will,” Elrohir promised, sinking his teeth into tender flesh. A surprised yelp sounded, and he snickered against his lover‘s rapidly hardening length. “I believe we shall forgo the silence, as well,” he whispered teasingly, his lips closing over the abused skin. Slapping his brother’s bottom lightly, Elrohir drew the elder twin’s attention to his handiwork. “Does that not resemble your souvenir from the night in question, el nín?”

A vivid splash of red and blue graced the prince’s pale skin, just where stomach and groin met, and Elladan smiled wickedly. “Aye, it does, indeed. Though I think the marks of your teeth a bit faint still.”

Meeting Legolas’ affronted glare without remorse, Elladan snuggled closer, his chest tight to the prince’s back, his breath ghosting across one flushed ear in a sensual purr. “You lay but an arm’s reach away that night, melethron, while he took me in his mouth. I wanted nothing so much as to howl my pleasure to the sky.”

“As did I,” Elrohir murmured, his lips brushing the base of his lover’s arousal. “But you stirred with every gasp, every moan...”

Legolas made no attempt to silence his own groan as the elf-knight’s mouth took him in, the swirling wetness nearly too much to bear. Caught between his lovers, he felt the silken slide of Elladan’s leggings over his bare skin, felt the hard heat that nestled against his buttocks. Teeth nipped gently at his throat, an insistent hand tugged at his pierced nipples, and all the while Elrohir’s tongue drew patterns of fire on his aching length. And then the images came, whether from his own imagination or from the memories of the twins, he could not say. Dark forms writhed under a starry sky, nestled mouth to groin, fingers digging into pale flesh, each pulling the other closer, moving faster, sucking harder...

“Wait,” Legolas panted, tugging urgently at his lover’s hair. “Too soon.” Elrohir pulled away reluctantly, and was drawn up into a blistering kiss as eager hands reached for his lacings. “Let me taste you, melethron.”

As the elf-knight stood to remove his leggings, Legolas reached back to pull Elladan closer, his bottom cradled firmly against the elder twin’s groin. “I need to feel your skin,” he whispered, turning his head to capture his lover’s lips. “I would have you fill me.”

Elladan rose to his feet, his hands moving to the stretched laces, only to be batted away. “Allow me, tôren,” Elrohir said hoarsely, dropping to his knees before his brother.

Legolas watched with heavy-lidded eyes as the elf-knight opened Elladan’s lacings, nuzzling the revealed arousal as the leggings slid to the balcony floor. Twin gazes met and held as Elrohir ran his tongue along the pulsing vein, hands moving to grasp his brother’s hips, his mouth sliding downward...

Elladan made no attempt at silence, and his pleasured groan seemed to resonate throughout the prince’s body, drawing an answering whimper.

_Soon, 'Las._

The soothing promise echoed in Legolas’ thoughts and he smiled, meeting his lover’s midnight dark gaze.

_Soon._

Urging Elrohir up, Elladan caught his lips in a tender kiss, the deep affection that underpinned their lust visible in every touch, audible in every sigh as they parted, moving to envelop Legolas between them. Legolas shivered in anticipation as Elladan curled tight against his back and a warm mouth closed over the tip of one ear. As the prince lifted his leg, shifting it forward, a strong arm slipped under his thigh.

“Let me,” Elladan whispered, easing the limb not forward but back, to rest over his own bent knee. “It will be easier thus.”

The wide spread of his legs left Legolas feeling exposed and vulnerable, but all thoughts of protest fled when Elrohir’s mouth descended on him, hot and wet. A heartfelt groan escaped, then the prince’s eyes fluttered as he felt Elladan’s fingers brush his entrance. His head pillowed on Elrohir’s thigh, Legolas rubbed his cheek over the soft skin, willing his body to relax as two slick fingers pressed inside, scissoring and curling aggressively, forcing the tight muscle to give. Then the fingers found their mark and he whimpered, pushing back forcibly as a wave of white-hot pleasure rushed over him. “Yes,” he gasped, “enough, ‘Dan...enough..._please_...”

Elladan swallowed dryly, the pleasured ramblings sending sharp tingles racing to his already leaking erection. Quickly spreading the pearly fluid, he pressed forward, sliding into his lover with a guttural groan.

Legolas was unable to hold back a keening cry as the thick shaft impaled him, opening him wide at the same time it filled him completely, the burn of entrance wiped away by the steady, pulsing pleasure of such complete possession. Opening his eyes once more, he reached eagerly for Elrohir’s arousal, which lay just out of tongue’s reach, sucking the heavy column deep into his throat without preamble. A muffled oath escaped the elf-knight as he was drawn into the caressing warmth, his own mouth moving to nuzzle the tight sac and stretched skin under his lover’s hard length. Feeling a tremor run through the corded muscle under his hand, Elrohir dug his fingers into his brother’s thigh, his tongue extending to once more lap at the place where his lovers’ bodies were joined.

Elladan shuddered as the rough wetness slid repeatedly over the base of his arousal, also stroking the tight ring that squeezed him, causing it to twitch and throb. “_Elbereth_, ‘Roh!” he gasped, thrusting deeper into the snug passage as his hips bucked reflexively, his determination to remain still broken by the incredibly erotic sensation. A satisfied chuckle echoed in his thoughts.

Elrohir pulled away with a final slurp, immediately engulfing Legolas once more, his attentions no longer gentle and teasing but insistent, dragging the prince toward completion with all of his considerable skill. Lost in both his own task and the delicious heat of Legolas' mouth, he was only dimly aware of the hand stroking his thigh, and he opened his legs instinctively. A moment later he was moaning around the shaft that filled his mouth as Elladan’s slippery fingers breached his body without warning, twisting unerringly to rub and press at their target.

Legolas groaned harshly, as his arousal was buffeted by the vibrations of Elrohir’s throat, and pressed back into the now-rhythmic movements of his lover’s body. Ebony strands fell froward to mingle with his own tousled locks, and Elladan’s mouth closed on his neck, nipping and suckling the tender skin beneath one ear.

Elladan panted against the sweat-damp throat, struggling to hold off his own climax as he continued to move his fingers inside his twin’s body, mimicking the increasingly rapid thrusts of his hips.

_Two can play, tôren._

The breathless thought swirled through the elder twin’s mind a mere heartbeat before Elrohir pushed saliva-slick fingers roughly into him, scraping repeatedly over the sensitive mound, sending bolts of aching pleasure flying to every part of his body, and shattering his control utterly. With a low growl Elladan buried himself deep in his lover’s body, sinking his teeth into Legolas’ shoulder as he spilled with a violent shudder, the added stimulation pushing the prince over the edge, as well. Elrohir let go a muffled howl of triumph, swallowing around the pulsing shaft that filled his mouth even as he felt his own release wash over him, intensified by the whisper of his brother’s completion that still sang in his veins.

For long moments the silence of the night was broken only by harsh breathing and the faint creak and rub of the trees.

Legolas finally roused himself from his stupor, groaning in protest as he felt Elladan’s softening arousal slip from his body. “That was rather, um..._intense_,” the prince offered hoarsely, his throat still smarting from the force of Elrohir’s plundering. “Not that I am complaining, mind you,” he added quickly.

“Nor am I, anor nín,” Elrohir rasped. “But I think a nice bottle of Dorwinion is in order. Mulled, perhaps.“ Sitting up slowly, he turned a questioning gaze on his brother. “Are you complaining, ‘Dan?”

“Nay, I am not complaining,” Elladan replied, wincing as he rolled into a sitting position. “But there is much of the night ahead. I think the wine should be accompanied by a hot bath, hmm, ‘Las?”

Legolas nodded ruefully. “A _very_ hot bath.”

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

anor nín – my sun   
tôren – my brother  
rohir nín – my knight  
el nín – my star


	16. Chapter 16

_~Imladris 2151 III~_

Thranduil groaned and bit down on his own lower lip, drawing blood. His body trembled, inching closer to climax with each frantic buck of his hips. “I...I... cannot hold...on...much longer,” he rasped brokenly, slamming forward to bury himself in Erestor’s body before pushing back against Glorfindel’s forceful thrusts. “End it!”

A triumphant growl sounded in Glorfindel’s chest as he reached to wrap a practiced hand around Erestor’s neglected arousal. He pulled at the slick column once, twice...and then his mate howled, spilling in pearly rivulets over Glorfindel’s hand, his release setting off a chain of sensations that soon left all three elves lying boneless on the rumpled sheets.

Long moments passed before Erestor stretched languidly, tossing his head so that his sweat-damp hair hung over the edge of the bed to pool on the stone floor. “I daresay a bath is in order,” he said lazily, turning a sated indigo gaze on his companions.

“In a bit,” Thranduil replied, wrapping an affectionate arm around Erestor and burrowing back into Glorfindel’s embrace. “I would savor my last moments with you.”

“Last moments?” Glorfindel asked lightly, pulling the king closer. “Nay, not our last moments, melethron. The phrase sounds far too final for my liking. Say rather our private parting.”

“Our private parting, then,” Thranduil agreed with a smile. His face sobering, he added, “Though I know not when we will be together again.”

“Not soon enough,” Erestor broke in, pressing a kiss to Thranduil’s forehead before sitting up reluctantly. “But the time for parting will come all _too_ soon, I fear.” Rising gracefully, he grasped Thranduil’s hand, tugging his lover to his feet. “Come, have your bath before the breakfast chimes begin to ring.”

  


******************

  


_~Mirkwood 2151 III~_

Legolas sat watching soberly as the twins stuffed the last items into their bulging packs. “This chamber will seem empty without your packs and weapons,” he remarked with forced levity. “I have become accustomed to your clutter.”

Elladan chuckled, tugging on the straps of his bag experimentally. Satisfied that the knots would hold, he sat the scuffed leather pack beside the door and moved to sit on the bed, drawing Legolas back into a loose embrace. “Then you must bring yourself and your bow back to Imladris, 'Las, to clutter our chamber for a while. “

“Indeed,” Elrohir interrupted with a grin as he dropped to the bed, burrowing into the tangle of arms and legs. “I have become accustomed to golden hair on my pillow and your scent on my skin. It will seem a bit lonely with only ‘Dan to taunt and torment.”

“I will do my best to keep you occupied,” Elladan shot back, one ebony eyebrow arching in amusement. “Truth, you may need ‘Las to rescue you by winter’s end.”

“Promise, tôren?” Elrohir retorted cheekily, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Legolas snickered. “The quiet is what shall do me in, I fear. How will I survive without your squabbling?” Suddenly serious, he whispered, “I love you.” He tightened his hold. “I will miss you both more than I can say.”

“As we will miss you,” Elladan whispered, pressing a flurry of kisses to the prince’s face. “We love you.”

“It is but for a while, anor nín,” Elrohir promised soberly. “We have many days together to look forward to.”

“Aye, we do, indeed,” Legolas agreed with a smile, brushing a lingering kiss over each twin's mouth in turn before rising with a sigh. “I suppose that as a good host, I must go see to your mounts. I will take your packs for stowing.”

“We will meet you in the courtyard,” Elladan replied, standing to reach for his jerkin as the prince left the chamber. “Best dress for the worst, ‘Roh.”

Elrohir nodded, tying the heavy black leather vest closed before lifting his shoulder pads with a questioning glance at his brother.

Elladan helped settle the thick leather armor onto the elf- knight’s shoulders, buckling the straps snugly. “I am sorry to go,” he offered as he checked the fit carefully, “but it will be good to be home again, as well.”

“Aye,” Elrohir answered, helping his twin in turn. “’Tis less painful, this parting, than the last in Imladris.”

“It is,” Elladan agreed, fastening the high leather collar that protected Elrohir’s neck. “There is no longer doubt. We have survived.”

The elf-knight smiled grimly, then his face softened as he reached out to tuck an ebony braid behind his brother’s ear. “Survived a trial by fire, tôren. Or rather a trial by family, death, grief, and pride.”

“You have forgotten the spiders, rohir nín,” Elladan teased, lifting his chin as Elrohir fitted the stiff collar. “Do not neglect to mention the local wildlife.”

Elrohir raised an eyebrow in unspoken comment, then suddenly sobered. “I have wondered these last days, ‘Dan, if mayhap...if we might...”

“The time is not yet right, 'Roh,” Elladan broke in gently. “There are many partings to be endured, and the choice is yet before us.”

“And we will choose together, el nín,” Elrohir promised, searching his brother’s face closely. “But there is more, is there not?”

“Aye,” Elladan admitted reluctantly, “though I cannot perceive it clearly. There is a time to come when such a promise would cause him great anguish. Our troth belongs to the future yet, ‘Roh.”

“Then let us gird ourselves for present partings,” Elrohir said, giving his twin’s hand an affectionate squeeze. “’Las will be waiting.”

  


******************

  


_~Imaldris 2151 III~_

Elrond stood at the gates with Celebrían, his twilight gaze sympathetic as he watched Thranduil approach, flanked by Glorfindel and Erestor. The three seemed deep in conversation, their arms linked possessively, and as they neared the Mirkwood guard, mounted and awaiting the king, their progress slowed to a crawl. Reluctantly, the departing monarch pulled away to approach the Lord and Lady of the valley.

“I thank your for your sage advice, my lady, “ Thranduil began, lifting Celebrían’s hand to his lips, “and for your generosity in sharing it with me.”

“It is ample reward that you have found your peace,” the Lady of Imladris answered with a gentle smile. “Farewell, my friend.”

The king moved to embrace Elrond, pressing a kiss to each cheek in traditional farewell. “Farewell,” he said quietly. “I am grateful for your hospitality, and your friendship. I hope you will return to Mirkwood someday, under happier circumstances.”

“I will, indeed,” Elrond promised, returning the ritual kisses. “And you are always welcome in the valley.” A mischievous smile crossed his noble features as he added, “’Which is well, as we may someday be law-family.”

Thranduil chuckled, his emerald eyes sparkling. “We may, at that. Your whelps have developed quite a following in the Wood.” His expression becoming serious, he continued, “I thank you and Imladris for allowing them to serve Mirkwood.”

“You are welcome, my friend, though I doubt I could have prevented their staying,” Elrond replied with a wry grin. “But I understand you will be repaying the favor with both an archery master and a talented healer. So we will call it even.”

“We will,” Thranduil agreed, stepping back to bow formally. “Farewell, Elrond.”

“Farewell,” Elrond responded, bowing in turn. “Elbereth’s blessing to you.”

Turning to Erestor and Glorfindel, Thranduil caught both in a fierce embrace, heedless of the onlooking guards. “I suppose this is goodbye, my friends,” he whispered, "but only for a while. Thank you.”

“Elbereth’s blessings, melethron,” Erestor murmured. “I will miss you.”

“Goodbye, Thranduil,” Glorfindel said, pressing a ritual kiss to each of the king’s cheeks. “Now we may begin looking forward to our next meeting.”

“With much anticipation,” the king agreed, a smile easing the solemn lines of his face as he swung onto the back of his horse. Allowing himself a final glance at his lovers, Thranduil nodded to his captain, and turned toward home.

  


******************

  


_~Mirkwood 2151 III~_

“Here they come, ‘Golas, here they come!” Galueth squealed, pulling away from her brothers and running to meet the twins as they descended the steps to the courtyard. “Swing me, El’dan. Swing me El’hir,” she demanded, both hands reaching out expectantly. “Swing me before you go.”

Elladan grasped one hand, Elrohir the other, and they swung the elfling in a gentle arc, much to her delight.

“Mind your manners,” Anteruon chided mildly as Galueth’s joyous shrieks reached painful levels. “The twins will have need of their hearing on the journey to Imladris. Tell them goodbye, child.”

“Goodbye, El’hir,” the princess whispered soberly, snuggling against the elf-knight as he knelt to embrace her. “Must you leave? ‘Golas will be sad.”

“Aye, we must,” Elrohir affirmed, dropping a kiss on the intricate mahogany braids that crowned the elfling’s head. “But we will return as we may.”

“Indeed,” Elladan promised, kneeling beside his brother. “And do not forget that Anteruon and Legolas will be journeying to Imladris from time to time. Perhaps you could...”

“Come to visit you?” Galueth broke in excitedly, throwing her arms around Elladan. “I could see the waterfalls and play with ‘Del and braid your hair and meet your Nana and your Ada and Arwen...” Stopping for a much needed breath, the princess looked at Elladan, her eyes wide. “Could I?”

“Aye, if your Ada gives leave,” the elder twin promised with a smile, squeezing Galueth gently. “Goodbye, little one.”

“Goodbye, El’dan,” the princess replied. “I will look after ‘Golas. I will not let him mope.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Elladan said gravely, his eyes dancing. “Your words ease my mind.”

Rising reluctantly, the twins found their arms full of auburn- haired elleth, an amused Tiriadon looking on. “Farewell, my lords,” Sílolwen whispered, tears standing in her enormous brown eyes. “Thank you for bringing him back to me. Valar’s blessing on you both.”

“Farewell, my lady,” Elladan answered for them both, casting a helpless glance at the captain.

“Let them go before you create a scandal,” Tiriadon teased, gently drawing his lover away. “Legolas is a jealous sort.”

“That he is,” Elrohir agreed with a snort, clasping Tiriadon’s arm warmly. “Farewell, wood-elf,” he said, pulling the captain into a quick embrace. Meeting the shining green gaze, he smiled. “Thank you, my friend.”

“Farewell, Peredhel,” Tiriadon retorted with a grin, squeezing the elf-knight’s arm. “You are most welcome. Turning to Elladan, he sobered. “Farewell, Elladan. I am in your debt.”

The elder twin shook his head firmly, kissing Tiriadon’s cheeks in ritual farewell. “You are not, captain. Indeed, I have a suspicion that we are all in _your_ debt. Farewell, my friend.”

At that moment Barangolas appeared to throw his arms exuberantly around each of the twins in turn. “Be safe, you two. Lindel sends his apologies and best wishes.” A broad grin lit the youngest prince’s face. “We could not both leave the patrol, and I fear I pulled rank.”

“A decision which may leave your bed cold for days, tôren,” Legolas snickered as he joined the group. His smile fading, he met Elladan’s gaze. “All is ready, el nín.”

“We should make haste, then,“ the elder twin said with a deep sigh. “I have no wish to spend an extra night among the spiders.”

“A sound choice,” Anteruon offered, “though I am loath to see you go.” Gripping Elrohir’s forearm, he drew the elf-knight into a warm embrace. “Farewell, gwadoren. Valar’s blessings.”

“Farewell, my prince,” the elf-knight replied, tightening his arms. “Look after ‘Las.”

Releasing Elrohir, Anteruon moved to stand before the elder twin. “Thank you, my friend", he began, clasping Elladan’s shoulder, "for everything. I...”

“There is no need for such words between us,” Elladan said quietly, pulling him into a snug embrace. “Farewell, gwadoren. I look forward to your arrival in the valley.”

“And mine?” Legolas asked impishly, slipping an arm around his lover’s waist.

“And your arrival, as well,” Elladan retorted with a grin as Elrohir joined them. With a final nod at the well wishers, the three moved toward the gates, and the final parting.

“Farewell,” Legolas said and released each of his lovers with a lingering kiss, stepping back as they mounted the restive horses. “Be safe, ‘Dan...’Roh.”

“And you, ‘Las,” Elrohir answered. “Farewell.”

“Farewell, ‘Las,” Elladan echoed before tearing his eyes from the prince to meet Elrohir’s clouded gaze. “Ready, tôren?” he asked, and the elf-knight nodded silently.

Without a backward glance they rode up the hidden path, and soon vanished among the shadows of Mirkwood.

  


*~*~*~*~*

  


tôren – my brother  
anor nín – my sun  
rohir nín – my knight  
gwadoren - my sworn brother

  



End file.
